BklnQ

The group I work in is moving to another location in a couple of weeks. Back to Manhattan. We’ve all been fitting in the packing up as we can, or as we get fed up with whatever we are supposed to be doing. So far I’ve packed up half my stuff and cleaned out two formerly occupied cubicles and my old boss’s office. That was a weird feeling, going through the stuff he left behind—business cards, buckslips, three-quarter-used pens and one-quarter-used reams of legal-size paper. I wasn’t happy when he left and I’m still not happy and this didn’t help.

Who the h—ll keeps ordering binder clips and file folders? Who still has paper files? Every drawer I have cleaned out has had empty hanging files, unused folders and/or unopened and loose binder clips. No one could possibly use all of these binder clips. I keep packing them anyway. I need to take a ziploc bag to work to collect all the loose paperclips.

I have gotten out of all the packing, however, a very sturdy three-hole punch, pen refills for the pen set my boss left me and enough notepads to last a couple of years. I wish I could find the industrial-strength stapler, which would be handy for those forty-seven-page business requirement documents (versions 1 through 12), but someone else must have snatched it when D— left.

This move will double my commute—twenty-five or thirty minutes instead of twelve or fifteen. I’ll have to get on the subway even. No one will ever be sympathetic, but I don’t care.

In other news, the second sock goes well. I’m about to leave the ribbing. I’d be farther along if half my conference calls hadn’t been canceled in the last two days.