The Journey to the Center of the Office

The journey to the coffee maker is a brutal and daunting task, but incredibly necessary nonetheless. I repeat a preparation routine every morning to work up the energy and courage to take that walk down the hall, into the kitchen, to obtain a steaming mug of tasteless, low grade coffee/water. After performing the futile, yet compulsory email check, I sign on to Gchat to give my morning salutations to my fave peeps, and quickly move on to work's best friend- Facebook. Sadly, I read the entire newsfeed up to the point where I left off the afternoon before, because, obviously, God will smite me if I am uniformed on one person's trip to NYC this weekend!!!! (3 DAYS!!!!) or another person's classic mupload of an embarrassing photo of him/her as a kid (OMG look how chubby I was!!!!!! lol). After finishing looking at a distant relative's pictures of a new puppy and watching a YouTube video of cats meowing, I force myself to face the truth: my need for coffee is greater than my dread of making small talk with a co-worker on the way to the kitchen. I push back my slightly wobbly office chair, stand up without conviction, slump my shoulders, look directly at the floor, and begin the long walk to the galley.

On this journey, I have to pass the office of my boss- the world's most awkward person. Eyes averted, I quickly slip by, hoping against hope he doesn't come out at the same time. Once I make it to the kitchen, I am a giraffe at a Saharan watering hole, exposed and awkward prey for those hungry hyenas to attack me with a chipper "Good morning!"; or, on a bad day, my boss (in this metaphor- the lion, the most feared of predators) will pounce with a "Hey, Anika. So, uh... you all ready for Christmas?" Oh, the tragedy, the gore... If I'm lucky, I push the Keurig button for a 6oz brew, and make it out of the kitchen alive, without a lackluster "Hello, how are you?" spoken. I find refuge for a few moments at my sane co-worker's desk, before I make the same dangerous expedition back to my office hole. I return only to find someone lost their phone last night (UGH iPhone #3 here I come! lol) and two people I don't know just became friends.

Vomming at Work: Acceptable?

I think we can all say that we've been hung over at work a time or two. Too many celebratory beers at someone's birthday dinner, a work happy hour becomes more fun than you expected, an ABC Family movie gets the best of you and your $5.99 bottle of wine. I can handle a little headache and lack of sleep, especially when the only email I receive all day is a reminder that my mailbox is getting full. Is it acceptable to be hung over at work? Obvs. But, the greater question is this: Is it acceptable to vom in the office? This is a question I have only begun to ponder today, but I can imagine this is a query as ancient as the invention of the midweek happy hour. If I do decide to expel the remnants of my big night out on the scene crashing an office Christmas party at a local bar on a Thursday, where should I go? Trash can under my desk? Girls' bathroom? Girls' 2nd floor bathroom? Should I bring a scout to guard the door? I am baffled by these questions and impressed by vommers of ages past who have accomplished this feat. I think my conclusion is this: do not vom, find some alka seltzer and get back to the day's important tasks at hand- reading the Today article on the cat with 26 toes and maybe taking a nap facing the wall so no one will notice.

Managerial Motivation

Boss arrives: 1:50 PM
Boss leaves: 4:10 PM

Lunch

I figured since this is my first official Blog Post I would make it special. What better topic to talk about then everybody's favorite part of the work day: lunch. Every morning, around 11:55, my stomach begins to growl. Not necessarily because it's hungry, but generally because it cannot stand to go through anymore pictures of girls I was friends with in high school, pictures of people I met once in a bar in college and somehow am friends with on Facebook and probably know enough about them to be a solid work reference, or, most likely, pictures of me from circa 2006. The rumbling intensifies as I attempt to stifle the hunger for food and mental stimulation a little longer by doing something of substance: reading the homepage of FoxNews or checking Suri's Burn Book. This battle to quiet my stomach's cry for substance and my mind's need to see real human flesh is a simple, daily attempt to make lunch come a little later and therefore closer to my time of departure, and perhaps to prolong the anticipation of human interaction. Finally, by 12:15 or 12:20 I will get a call from a desperately famished co-worker:
"Hey."
"Hey."
"What's up."
"Nothing. You want to eat?"
"Yea."
"Ok...... Bye."
I provide my customary "brb"s to my Gchat VIPs, and I head down the hall to heat up my unsatisfactory frozen Healthy Choice and listen to a hearty discussion of the most recent shenanigans of my co-workers' dogs. Thus concludes the most exciting part of my day.