Sunday, October 25, 2009

Solidarity

I sit in my office, looking out of the window across rolling hills, to distant farms and grazing cattle.

"This is good," I think, spinning in my chair, but consciously spinning it slowly, grown up like.

I peer through the window in my door, out to where the bulk my new team who are chatting away. It looks fun out there.

I revert my attention back at the more spacious senior office, with its pretentions to echelon, hierarchy, its rank, its mark of… achievement.

I pull my torn face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I shuffle to my boss's desk.

"Probably," I say, sensing this could be a defining moment, "I should be out there with my team. I prefer getting stuck in."

My boss examines me, and shrugs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I place my box of things on my new desk, and beam at my team. My team do not clap and whoop as I had half expecty-hoped. Rather, they look deeply unimpressed, quite possibly thinking I am both condescending and a fool.

I try stop my things falling off the small desk, and wistfully look over at the doorway to my briefly acquired office.

6 comments:

Shane said...

Oh dear. People - the minnions - they don't read the script like they should.

Please Don't Eat With Your Mouth Open said...

Buy them chocolate and cakes from Marks and Spencer, turn the office into a games room. All will be forgiven.

Brennig said...

Don't do the David Brent dance.

numbrwithheld said...

do the David Brent dance.

Huw said...

I don't think branding them 'The Help' is ingratiating me.

Moving desk has at least stopped me emerging from my office when I'm bored, flattening my tie, Brent-like.

Banksy said...

You wear a tie?

Oh.