I’ve been working up at school a lot lately and my little shadow otherwise known as my personal assistant comes with me. I use an office that is more or less a glorified closet built in a space off the furnace room. It’s not even my office, it’s used by the Dean of Students and the computer/tech support guy. They are in and out of it all day, but they don’t use it on a full-time basis, so I claim it as my work space when I’m at school. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to say, “Oh, um, do you need us to move?” when the two men come into the little office to get something. Then we all do a little synchronized dance to maneuver around the office, over the toys, through the boxes and papers so a file drawer can be accessed. A lot of oops, sorry and excuse me are exchanged and then I settle back in my little corner to work until the next person needs to come into the office for something and the dance begins once more.
The boxes in the background…all mine. The papers under the chairs…yeah, mine. The clipboard on the chair…mine. The egg carton on the floor just above my personal assistant’s left shoulder…yeah, uh, mine again. The toys, well those aren’t mine, those are my personal assistants and I can’t be responsible for all of his projects, I’m sorry, I just can’t. The sullen look on my personal assistant’s face…that would be mine and yes, I am responsible for that because how dare I not have a buffet of sugary snacks available in this office for him to fill his little belly.
I make a huge mess when I go up to school and work.
It’s a very good thing I don’t share this office with another woman, she would have thrown me and all my crap out in the dumpster weeks ago.