Coping Strategies of the Introvert in the Open Floor Plan Office
7:00 a.m. — Leave for the office. Goddammit.
8:00 a.m. — Arrive at work. Pass a “Committee Collective” in the “Large Group Area.” Strengthen resolve to never join any committee, ever.
8:03 a.m. — Locate a decent seat in a slightly underpopulated section, the underpopulated status possibly due to the lingering stench of what might be a rotting bunch of asparagus.
8:15 a.m. — Nearby, an unfamiliar individual proceeds to conduct a conference call via megaphone or other voice projection device.
8:16 a.m. — Insert earbuds. Click ‘OK’ on the warning regarding listening at high volumes for extended periods.
8:45 a.m. — Leap out of seat in alarm when tapped on the shoulder by a co-worker. “Firm up plans” for this weekend’s release.
8:50 a.m. — Realize that the firming up of plans was a ruse designed to disguise the real conversation, which is “what the co-worker wanted to get done on the house this weekend and how the release is a real monkey wrench in the works.”
9:02 a.m. — Re-insert earbuds and return focus to actual work for approximately 90 seconds. The stench of rotting asparagus has become almost cozy, like an old blanket.
9:03 a.m. — The unfamiliar individual has begun another conference call, this time pacing around importantly and speaking in his podium voice on a bluetooth headset.
9:08 a.m. — Hyperventilate into a paper bag.
9:12 a.m. — Locate an unoccupied “quiet room.” Close the door and spend several minutes enjoying the pleasure of normal breathing.
9:19 a.m. — Begin working in semi-pleasant solitude; semi-pleasant as opposed to entirely pleasant due to the fishbowl nature of the glass-enclosed quiet room.
11:30 a.m. — Receive a Memo to Associates via email, indicating that the use of a quiet room must be limited to two hour stretches.
11:34 a.m. — Bob from two rows over insists that as two hours have clearly passed, the quiet room must be surrendered immediately. To him.
11:37 a.m. — Traverse entire floor in search of another quiet room; all are occupied.
12:05 p.m. — Cry softly over a Lean Cuisine Marketplace Fiesta Grilled Chicken.
12:22 p.m. — Follow the advice of Susan Cain and recharge with a solitary walk; maintain brisk pace even in the face of several unintentional eye contact situations.
1:38 p.m. — So-called “recharged” condition fades quickly amidst a boisterous meeting at which physical attendance is mandatory, despite all but two other attendees having dialed in from remote locations around the globe.
2:00 p.m. — Attempt once again to locate an open quiet room. Fail.
2:01 p.m. — Return to desk. Earbuds have mysteriously stopped working. Peruse LinkedIn for jobs at libraries.
2:15 p.m. — Stare at laptop screen in despair as Bob from two rows over loudly discusses server farms while walking on the treadmill desk.
2:40 p.m. — Decline an invitation to “Cocktails With Coders!” as it interferes with the previously scheduled “TV and Takeout With No One But Myself.”
3:05 p.m. — An associate to the left sneezes twice all over his keyboard, monitor, mouse, and desk surface. Proceeds typing as if nothing has gone wrong.
3:16 p.m. — A nearby discussion of ethical hacking reaches raucous decibel levels.
3:22 p.m. — Begin shivering for no apparent reason.
3:25 p.m. — Google “open office plan please just kill me now” despite alerts surely set off in keystroke-monitoring software.
3:35 p.m. — Escape to the relative solitude of a bathroom stall. Listen in awe as a fellow floor resident carries on a conversation while urinating.
3:49 p.m. — Leave bathroom to find the same three people in conversation outside the door; attempt to stride confidently away as if the past fourteen minutes have never happened.
3:50 p.m. — Feel fairly certain that no one was fooled.
3:51 p.m. — Give up. Go home. Accomplish approximately five hours’ worth of work in 90 blissful minutes.
6:00 p.m. — Continue reading How to Win Friends and Influence People over dinner. Laugh at several passages. Feel complete.
