At one point while discussing where people would sit, I actually said to a colleague that having the responsibility of dealing with the complexities of how to decide who should sit where is like a slow painful death and that at the end a whole bunch of unhappy people will be standing over my cold dead lifeless body still debating how to decide who should sit where. So I will have died for nothing. So what's the point?
Just leave me for dead now. Just walk away and call it a day. I’ll fling the keys to the castle and all of its rooms on the floor in a pile and everyone can go Lord of the Flies on each other. Just give me a list of who sits where so I can find people. That’s all I ask. I don’t even care.
As if I’m emotionally invested in any of the desks. I’m not even emotionally invested in my own desk. Why would I be emotionally invested in theirs?
Do they want my desk? Is that the problem? Take it. Rip it apart piece by piece and divvy up the pieces as souveneirs. I don’t care. For that matter, take anything valuable in the vicinity of my desk, too. Just please stop telling me 437 different versions of how things should work and what’s wrong with how it’s being done.
12 gray hairs over a bunch of desks I’m not emotionally invested in. At least when I get gray hairs from my kids, they have the decency to act cute and cuddle me later. If there’s no desk related cuddling going on, those 12 gray hairs don’t seem worth it. Sigh.
|Showing me his tennis ball guns.|