Not long after I started my job, I was moved to the Worst Desk in the Office (they assured me it was nothing personal, but I still have my suspicions). Stuck, I tried to make my workspace feel like home by stealing furniture and creating some walls, then covering those walls in video game posters and toys. None of this could really disguise the fact that the desk was still terrible, but at least I had some semblance of privacy. I truly hated it, though – since the day I moved, I’ve been trying to get a different desk anywhere else. I volunteered to sit in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or in the middle of the floor, all to no avail: I had to stay put, and it sucked.
Fortunately but unfortunately, a mass exodus at work has freed up some space and more than a year later, I finally have a new desk. It is an excellent desk; one that people don’t walk behind a million times a day. It’s bigger than my old one, and has fewer splinters that ruin my clothes when I sit down. I even have a tall cabinet with shelves for all my toys and Diet Coke cups (I have 9 mugs at work for some reason) and the collective Nerf arsenal of the Graphics Department. I am pleased with my new home.
Being pleased as punch will only get you so far when you are VERY SAD, though: another person from my fledgling Product Design team has given notice. My future is up in the air, and that is my least favourite place for it to be: I am a sad, worried Kimli.
These are dark times, even with all the light streaming through my new windows. One small plus, though – a gratifying number of people who walk past my old desk are shocked/upset/confused/worried when they see that I am no longer there.