A moving experience

By the time you read this, an epic battle of strategy, cunning, deceit and psychological warfare (not to mention fear, paranoia and possible violence) will have played itself out.

I may not have survived. You could actually be reading my self-penned obituary.

Yes, another office move takes place today. I’ve got the day booked off, but so great is the peril of allowing colleagues to move your stuff from one place to another, that I’m actually going in to work. If I don’t, I could well return on Monday to find my desk so close to the photocopier that I’d get a tan, or possibly in the car park, depending on how benevolent they were feeling.

Whilst some folks are content to sit anywhere, I’m so far in the other camp that you need a taxi and packed lunch to get there. I spend a third of my weekday life at work, and whilst I have some control over my home life (I am married, so in no way is it more than partial), my grip on the office plan is tenuous, to say the least.

There are grave concerns. How do I make sure that my chair gets to the new location without getting mixed up? I’ve spent 3 years getting it comfy – I can’t go through that trauma again. What if I got a crappier one? I’m trying not to hyperventilate here – stay with me.

I’ve drawn up a carefully prepared Venn Diagram, featuring ‘proximity to radiator’, ‘access to window’ and ‘in a corner with back to wall’ with the hope of hitting the sweet spot at it’s core, but keeping firmly in mind that the last one on that list can be interpreted in more than one way.

There are other important considerations too – will I get a bigger desk? Will it be gently sloping like my current one, or will pens remain on the surface without rolling on to the floor?

What’s the good/bad co-efficient regarding being against a wafer thin wall to the Gents loos, if it gets me a corner-of-the-office seat? What about the distraction of being next to a meeting room, versus the chance of hearing something juicy when they forget the poor sound insulation?

Is closer to the kitchen actually a good thing? Sure, it’s not as far to go to get a cup life-giving coffee, but I’ve previously been exposed to what some colleagues put in the microwave, and the manufacturers of nerve gas have been hanging around with contracts a bit too often. The bin has been classified as a biohazard too.

I’m not sure I can handle the stress. New room-mates as well? How well will they cope with my sense of humour? My encyclopedic knowledge of 1980’s pop-trivia? The fretting about whether Jeff Lynne’s new album will be any good?

If you’re reading this with a fearful expression on your face, and hoping that you never meet me, look on the bright side... you don’t have to sit next to me. Or DO you..?

Have a, movingly, good weekend.

If you can.

This post first appeared in my 'Thank grumpy it's Friday' column in the North West Evening Mail on Friday 7th September 2012. This is the unedited version - you can view the printed/online version here: "Office reshuffle a moving experience", was the title used by the NWEM, which I'm claiming as a win in my continuing battle with the sub-editors.

The column this week lost 114 words from the version submitted, but you've got the full, angsty, version here. Sorry about that.

The move itself was traumatic, and now I'm sat facing a wall (in a fetching shade of dog vomit orange) and can't see who is coming into the room behind me. This is especially frustrating, as I won't be able to type evil things about people in case they're stood behind me. Dammit!

(Some chap called Paul McCartney is kindly performing his "Driving Rain" album for me. Seems like a decent enough chap - he should try and get himself some more publicity.)

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