Here's the institution's office move method: pack up your desk the day before, report to the new location at 8:00 a.m., and ... twiddle your thumbs. Anything needed to do a lick of work will be unavailable, when the movers don't start until 8 the same day.
"Downtime, until further notice" was the order of the morning. If it hadn't been for record sub-zero temperatures, I would have checked out the neighborhood, just to be sure of where the scarce bus stops are. Instead, I was stuck inside a sterile, factory-like building, trying to find some constructive use for the sudden free time.
I took the 10-minute hike toward the cafeteria, to visit my anticipated only positive thing about relocation: a satellite library. Just an office space, but I'd been told that book requests from the main campus could be delivered there for me to pick up. It seems I was misinformed: the "library" is a mere presence, hiring staff and touting itself online, but offering no useful services.
It does have a few computers, so I sat myself down, to try salvaging something from the time. The computer proved to be as useless as the "library": it couldn't so much as load institutional e-mail, or do much of anything else.
Meanwhile, the space next to the "library" was jumping: it's an IT office, that day offering workshops—on "Cloudspace ...", or, "Air... something"—a name along those lines. Whatever it was called, it's evidently the newest, shiniest thing being forced upon large groups of employees. And it has mystified them all, to judge from the way business on that side was booming.
I stuck it out with the bad computer for nearly an hour, as seekers of IT enlightenment came and went. Then came the point when a new group was milling around, talking loudly. The voices were women's—administrative assistant types, from the conversation. One began going on about "poopy diapers"—presumably, a current or recent experience she was waving around (so to speak) as a badge of work/home multi-tasking honor. That seemed to halt the conversation for a moment; then—Team Building opportunity—the others chimed in with their poopy diaper stories.
That did it for me: if I want to be subjected to such sparkling conversation, I can hang around my work group. Though my annoying co-worker most likely to bring up such topics is pregnant now, and on the lookout for any opportunity to discuss pregnancy details with any willing listener. I am not among the willing—just cannot avoid hearing—but at least poopy diapers are not yet part of her repertoire.
The day was a frustrating waste of time. I ran through all the 2014 calendar pages of weird supplier art I'd saved for making origami boxes. Also untangled the knots from eleven or twelve twisted pairs of $1 store earbuds I'd tossed aside over the years. Now it will be easier to test them (and find, no doubt, that all are dead).
One of the discomfiting things about this move is being thrown together with a unit previously at a different building. For years, the staff were only to be seen at the year-end holiday party. They always presented an odd picture then, sitting together at a table with no intention of mingling. The exception was A. Friend, whom I've known ten years, and with whom I worked until her transfer to this other group. I know A. to be extremely conscientious about her work, yet ever since her move, she's complained about harassment by the supervisor (whom I'll call Simone Legree). I never witnessed what went on, but found the annual look at the robotic rest of her office was unsettling.
Now, some of these women sit in cubicles opposite my side of the aisle. (Not A. Friend: she's been placed directly across from her supervisor's office, to provide Simone L. maximum scrutiny). When I finally had a desk, the member of their team directly opposite noticed my sit-stand monitor platform. She asked what it is and why do I have it, so I demonstrated. Because of the apparent whip-cracking on her side of things, I tried to be discreet, but did want to suggest the department has ordered these platforms at the recommendation of an ergonomics evaluator, and that, "the department supports getting a work station evaluation if you need one." Her co-worker in the next space had also come to see the thing (so she also got my spiel). Both complained about sore necks, so I tried showing them a quick loosening trick that's based on wing-like movement from the back of the shoulder blades. The second neighbor was very interested, and actually tried it along with me; in the middle of the our wing-flapping, along came a glowering Simone L., to clip them.
Even aside from Simone's demeanor, there's a strange dynamic in that unit. It seems the data entry is transmitted to a sort of hall monitor (or, Simone Legree, Jr.) She travels between her office and the workers' desks, to have them explain or justify something they've entered. Simone, Jr.'s office is on the corridor leading to all exits; each time I passed by, she jerked her head around, presumably to check that it wasn't one of her staff making unauthorized movements.
And I need to pass Jr.'s office to reach the kitchen or rest room. Both are shared with a department that's been settled in the building for some time. They are a muckety-muck group dealing with scientific research rule compliance. Unlike any other department I've encountered in my (on and off) fifteen years at the institution, staff are mostly women around my age. They may be mostly administrative assistants or middle managers, but most seem high-powered. That may be vicariously, through proximity to muckety-mucks, or some of these people may be key players in the line of defense against things reaching the institution's lawyers. In any case, the concentration of women of mature ages is unusual: I don't know if they have particular training and long experience, or if they have reached the heights of Compliance via previous decades of crushing underlings.
They certainly are rigorous in enforcing kitchen compliance. That was clear from the extensive communication media: their refrigerator duties whiteboard, a detailed status log on the status of a pending ice-maker repair, and such. To prepare for the intruders, Compliance had plastered every appliance and drawer with their unit's acronym; I happened to be in the room to hear our manager's admin assistant being told, "You can use these two shelves."
From the other side there is a sniffy regarding of persons and lunches. Well, to have hoity-toity ladies inspecting my co-workers: it's Whole Foods meets Sam's Club. No doubt, those women think Whole Foods is a benevolent organization made of happy Team Members.
The rest room is another jointly used space. I was there around 3:00, and heard one Compliance woman to another, "Oh! Out of toilet paper already!" Well, what would you expect from the sudden importation of over twenty women?
By around that time, I finally had a connected computer. And new junk e-mail, from a vendor jumping on this bandwagon:
"Science to You in the Year of the Goat. Chun Lian is a decoration used during the celebration of the Chinese New Year. Typically, the Chun Lian writes a happy, hopeful, and uplifting message about a good New Year to come."
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"This Chun Lian is for you. |
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| "You will be happy with whatever you do" |
And: don't forget to buy!
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| "In the year of the goat, use good quality antibody" |
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