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.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
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.
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