I’ve spent some time wandering about the 47th, 48th, and 49th floors today, checking out our new digs. It’s an incredibly maze-like series of offices and cubes; and like a middle-aged Gretel minus the sense to drop bread crumbs, I simply stumble about until I see something I recognize.
Eventually, this will stop.
But until then, no, I can’t tell you where the Mediterranean Conference Room is.
So I was out on one of my Where-The-Hell-Am-I Walks this morning when I came across something that made me stop, blink, and then scurry by quickly.
There was a man sitting in an “outside” cubicle – half walls of glass, no doors – brushing his teeth at his desk.
Let’s take a moment here, shall we?, so that we can all furrow our brows together.
Just another one of the things that make you say “whaaaaaaaa?”
Like the number of times I’ve walked into offices looking for something work-related only to find its inhabitant changing his/her pants, I am boggled by the personal things we do in public spaces.
The man in the car next to you picking his nose, the woman on the phone on the bus spelling out things you just don’t want to know about her/her taste in men, the cubicle-mate who brushes her hair out and then drops the dozens of stray hairs to the floor, why do they want us to witness? Am I the only one seeing these things?
I have a theory; and if you’re not careful, I’ll tell it to you. Feeling reckless today? Here’s my theory:
People have become more accustomed to doing personal things in private spaces because they think no one is looking, because they think no one cares, because – and this one’s my favorite – “it’s a free country”.
OK. That was more than just one theory.
But back to the issue at-hand and the question on everyone’s lips: This guy brushing his teeth at his desk? Where’s he going to spit?
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