Jack: “NO! It’s the memo dated August 14th. Know what? I’ll show it to you. Just come in here, I wanna see your little t-shirt.”
Me: “It’s a sweater.”
Jack: “I don’t care! I just wanna see it, so get your ass in here.”
At my office, there seem to be an abundance of long, barren corridors. In order to accomplish critical office functions—getting coffee, going to the bathroom, seeing how everyone’s evening was spent—one is forced to walk down these hallways that seem infinite in length. Alone, this is not so bad. Discomfort and agitation is met when one rounds the corner to see a co-worker coming from the opposite direction. Suddenly the simple task of walking becomes extremely uncomfortable. It’s office chicken. Avoiding eye contact at all costs becomes imperative. Weird glances at the floor, adjustments of my hair, shirt, anything. If lucky, I have something in hand. Then it’s easy to appear very concerned and engulfed in the importance of my paperwork which of course means nothing to me whatsoever.