The words that I’ve been dreading for the past week have been made loud and clear. And, they couldn’t have come at a worse time: Steven, you’re moving to the other side of the office.
What are even more dreadful are the words that come after the first ones: You have to move, now
It wasn’t too much of a surprise. I knew it was coming. There were whisperings in the hallways and offices for the past few weeks. And, since I have a supersonic ear, I heard every word.
Being a fighter - even in the most obvious of losing battles - I stand my ground. If they want me to move to Siberia, they will pay for it. Literally. Since moving time is not billable to clients, they will expense this out of their bottom line.
Opening one drawer after another, I meticulously remove every item and place it in a corresponding box and folder, then I walk over to the other side of the office and place it next to my new desk. I am nothing if not organized.
As I make my trek, back and forth, several co-workers give me looks of pity, shielded by plastic smiles. I know what they’re thinking. I’m not stupid. Some of them feel a little sad that I’m moving away (they can’t rely on me to do their crap work). Others are elated that I won’t be working with them, anymore (only I’m the one who is partying inside).
Feeling embarrassed would be par for the course, but I don't show it. With my head held high, I carry on until all of my drawers are empty and all of their contents are in their new (temporary) location.
The in-house IT man passes by my (soon to be former) desk and asks me whether I want my old hard drive, or if I can just use the new computer.
“No, I want my
computer. I also want my
“Don’t you want the new ones?”
“No. I have a few things on my hard drive that make it easier for me to do certain things, and I don’t want to move them around on the server, then resave them on my new computer. And, I like my monitor. It’s bigger than the other one." I am adamant. "No. I want my old ones.”
“Anything else?” he's such a nice guy. He knows this is hurting me.
“I also want to take my
mouse and my
phone," I reply as I point to every item. "I want it all
at my new
desk.” Yes, I’m being petulant. No, I don’t deserve second guessing. Yes, I’m being difficult. No, I don’t deserve third-class treatment.
He sighs as he starts to take apart the old computer.
While the IT man moves my equipment, piece by piece, I’m relegated to picking up a j-cloth and some Fantastik
to clean up the mess the previous person left behind. Such a mess it was that there are still remnants of them.
Did I mention they moved 20 feet away and left behind ½ of their shit on my (soon to be new) desk? Uh-huh. Yeah, exactly
Taking my sweet-ass time, the desk is spotless and smelling of lemon. All of my previous paraphernalia is in its new drawers.
When all is done, I sit down at my chair (which I brought from my former desk - again, I ain't
stupid) and I sigh.
"Welcome to your new desk!" a few of my co-workers say as they pass by me. "We're happy you could join us." They're being nice in this transitory period. What's offputting (to me) is they mean every word.
While my other co-workers were too happy to see me go, these co-workers welcome me with open arms.
Maybe it isn't so hard to move to Siberia. As long as you have someone who makes you feel welcome.