My mornings are very routine.
I head to work, get dropped off at Starbucks, get a coffee, have a smoke, then walk down the hill to work.
Today was a day like any other, except I picked up my coffee earlier so I just sat and smoked, and read my book. At length, I got my stuff and headed to work. I momentarily forgot my new vow of taking the stairs instead of the elevator, and so proceeded smoothly and effortlessly up to my floor.
The sixth floor is generally a quiet reservoir of calm. Populated mostly by tax accountants and helpdesk teammates, you rarely hear other people. Of course, there is me in the center of the floor, surrounded by high cubicle walls. This area should be roped off and labeled “CAUTION! NON QUIET AREA”, as I am sure you can imagine.
Try then, to further imagine the impact of an appalled “OH FUCK!” issuing over the cube walls, seemingly for nowhere, followed by me, rushing to the stairs and down them in a flash. Picture the security guard as he sees me running pell mell through the lobby mere moments after having arrived. Picture me running my out-of-shape ass up the hill, back to Starbucks, and then picture the looks on the faces of the two poor ladies that took my vacated seat as a red-faced, out of breath madwoman rushes up, in desperate search for…
No joke, kids. I can be the biggest pain in my own neck sometimes. It’s ridiculous.