I’m moving from one cubicle to another, an endeavor involving a large cart and going from the 48th to the 47th floor.
Management assures me that this is not reflective of their continued admiration for my work.
And so I have begun packing.
Who knew I had all these Starbucks napkins? No wonder their prices keep going up. One unnecessary napkin a day for the last six years. I can already see my descendants on Antique Road Show, hauling in my collection of vintage napkins. Surely it will be worth money some day?
And these flash drives. What’s on them? Why are there so many? How much can I sell them for?
Ah. And the Simethicone tablets tucked among the pens and binder clips. Simethicone? Why, that’s Extra Strength Gas Relief pills to you and me. Well, mostly to me. A gal with a lunchtime salad preference and an afternoon yoga practice can’t be too careful – or too civil.
I’m like a superhero over here with those pills. Every day, disaster is averted; and yet no one is the wiser.
I don’t mind moving my desk, although I’ll no longer have access to a window and the incredible view I’ve grown accustomed to. I once looked up in time to see an animal the size of a feathered and beaked toddler land on the ledge outside my window. It was hard to grasp. Who expects to see anything this high up?
That hawk – known downtown for her nest on the 49th floor – is enormous. She stared at me in that unblinking way birds have, tilted her head as if to say “sucker”, and then threw herself off the side of the building.
I watched, my face pressed against the glass as she sailed off in search of unsuspecting pigeons.
Honestly, if the opportunity ever arises again to choose a career, I’m going to choose “hawk”.
I'm eager for this move, but it is not made without trepidation.
What if all the things that I’ve heard about the 47th floor refrigerator are true?
And what if the other things I've heard about 47 are true, primarily that the 47th floor people have cooties? Wait – have I had cooties? I think I’ve had cooties before, but what if they’re different cooties?
What if they just don’t like me?
Get a grip woman. This is just silly.
It IS silly, right?
I mean, who wouldn’t like a gal that moves in with five potted plants and seven pairs of shoes? Someone who moves in with her own gas-suppression tablets and both a regular three-hole punch and an electric three-hole punch? Huh?
I’m so in.