I work in a very corporate office building. Nothing but cubicles, bath and conference rooms. The air is recycled, and the only consistent sounds I hear are the rat-tat-tatting of fingers on keyboards, the atonal zips of the scroll wheel on our mice, and the rustling of papers. No watercooler talk (not even a watercooler to talk at, actually), no music save the sweet rhythms of endless work.
Still, I typically stay at my desk for the duration of my day for the duration of my work week. Sometimes, it is because I am busy, running from meeting to meeting with just enough time in between to run back to my desk and see the e-mails that I will helplessly ignore and neglect. Other times, that is: most of the time, I just find it easier to not leave, even on boring days, days when I would rather be at home (like today). I have my phone, my computer, often my lunch. If I got me a chamber pot and a water purifier, I could reasonably see nothing but the four walls of my cubicle all day long.
Sam calls me throughout the day, and depending on my busyness, I will either pick up at my desk or take my phone upstairs to the cafeteria. He'll give his various updates, what neighborhood he's currently in, the rampant ineptitude of all other drivers on the road, and, more recently, Grr's bowel movements:
"Was kinda soft today."
"Kinda gelatinous with an iridescent sheen to it."
"Hard, but there were, like, four logs and they blasted out of him like rockets."
On the calls where I pick up at my desk, I limit myself to largely monosyllabic responses and try to keep my voice down without seeming like I am hiding something. I just figure that the last thing my cube neighbor needs to hear is banter centered around the consistency of dog poop.
And Sam has picked up on when I have more liberties to respond to his shenanigans and when I have less. When I'm in the cafeteria, invariably there will be a gaggle of Asian women sitting at a table laughing and whooping it up like it was Sunday brunch, which does good in masking my conversations. When he calls during the latter, the background will be very quiet, my voice very low, and he will take this opportunity to use ridiculous terms of endearment and expect me to respond in kind: "Talk to you later, lover lips, heart of my heart, sweet lumps! Muah muah muah!!"
Typically, this earns him a quick, "Bye," which prompts the following exchange:
Him: Say it back! Say it!
Me: No!
Him: Muah muah muah!
Me: I'm hanging up now.
Him: You had better say it or I will go crazy ape!
Me: No! I'm really hanging up now. <click>
One minute later:
Him (via text message): Crazy ape!!
All of this, really, is probably worse than just calling him 'muffin cup' within everyone's earshot and putting an end to it.
Today, I ate lunch around 11:00 and decided to implement a new routine into my workday. I took my slice of pizza up to the cafeteria, sat by the window, and ate while I worked on blog posts. The cafeteria was still empty, and the only sound was a faint Kelly Clarkson singing about waiting a lifetime for moments like these.
No sooner had I written three words, Sam called. Hearing that it was quiet, he figured that I was sitting at my desk and whipped out his, "sugar lamb chop of my loins" nonsense, which I shamelessly repeated right back.
"Argh, foiled! I thought you were at your desk!"
And right there, he gave me the first, and only, laugh of my workday (as well as another day's post--just 278 more to go!).
Some Mondays can be like this.
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