Sharing an Office

I share an office.

I share an office with a hot house orchid who I swear has no blood. Everyone in the room will be hot, and the orchid has so many clothes on and complains of being cold.

I share an office with a giggler. Good grief we’re all adults and one of them giggles on the phone.

I share an office with someone who treats the room as their own personal takeaway. Every single day they bring in food reeking of garlic, and then had the temerity to complain today that someone else’s lunch had raw onion in it. You couldn’t make it up!

I share an office with someone who lets the door slam behind them every single time they enter or leave the room. One day, they let it slam so often that I literally had a headache and in the end I jammed the door open, which the orchid doesn’t like obviously.

I like my colleagues, I really do, but sharing an office really does suck.

I had my own office for a glorious year. The view was terrible, but it was mine. I had a window I could open – I’m a fresh air fiend. I could have the light on if I wanted – I have a ‘bad’ eye so often need the light on so I can actually see what I’m doing without straining my eyes. I could have the radio on if I wanted.

Now I have to ask permission to have the light on, or the window open and I hate it. It rebels against the whole point of being a grown up. I never ever voice these thoughts by the way, and I’m sure my colleagues love sharing with me too… Insert emoticon of man rolling on floor laughing :))