To start a week in which I’m doing me as well as covering down in part or in whole for three other people, I arrived at the office this morning to discover that it was also new cubicle day. I’d made as much peace as possible with the fact that we’re pissing away money redesigning and reconstructing an office that is only five years old, but due to the general delays and slow-motion progress of all government sponsored design and construction projects, I’d mostly written off the whole exercise as something that would probably never see the light of day. In one of those rare bits of accomplishment, though, this is the week we start shuffling underlings so we can build more offices for our increasingly deep multi-level management structure.
I’ve lost count of the number of reorganizations, restructurings, rightsizings, drawdowns, plus-ups, or other periods of office growth or detriment I’ve lived through in the last fourteen years. One a year sounds like a pretty likely number, though. One or two of them may have been reasonably well thought out. The rest, the lion’s share, are slapdash affairs dreamt up with approximately a ninth grade level of academic rigor. That’s fine. Ours is not to reason why and all that.
Today marked my fourth cubicle move in as many years. Each move marks a progressively less desirable location as the ranks of management swell and the number of line personnel decrease. Hard to believe anyone ever accused headquarters organizations of being top heavy. My new cell away from home doesn’t have a working phone yet. The storage cabinets haven’t arrived yet it’s missing three wall panels, but at least there are no windows and no outside electronic devices allowed. The great irony is the powers that be are in a dead rush to fill this space so they can immediately begin construction inside that same area. By some truly bureaucratic feat of logic, someone decided that building out four private offices would be best accomplished by first filling all other parts of the room to capacity and then beginning the cutting, drilling, and hammering. It’s the kind of thing I wish I had to make up.
If I somehow don’t manage to lose what small sliver of my mind remains somewhat same between now and the end of the year, I will quite simply consider it miraculous beyond words. Alas, it’s truly just another day serving our increasingly crazy Uncle.