... and still counting, as last Friday's free lunch—the Jimmy John's platter that was an insult when new—continues decomposing in the office fridge. By Wednesday, I couldn't decide if my group treasured it that much, if they feared disposing of it would insult the higher-ups, or if they were saving it to hold a one-week anniversary this Friday.
Meanwhile, I am discovering the lack of amenities in this huge, shiny complex—where I can't find so much as a US Postal Service box. For all the number of staffed security desks at entrances to various buildings, no one knows the answer to such questions. Nor do they care: the denizens are cocooned in their vehicles, and blessed with the close, ample parking they all rave about. For me, commuting a distance that's ten minutes in a vehicle has added more than an hour and a half's extra time each day, most of it long waits at the end of the day. The only reliable service then is the transit company's favored line, Out of Service... That bus breezes by nightly, at precisely the time my bus is scheduled. Meanwhile, I wait in sub-zero temperatures, watching for an arrival that is always fifteen or twenty minutes late.
By Thursday morning, the nearly week-old Jimmy John's finally was gone.
As has Morning Huddle vanished. I'm only hoping it will stay that way. People are more dispersed in the new space, and even my stolid group of suck-ups had been rolling their eyes at day after day of recycled text, dumb trivia quizzes, and general daily padding.
Originally, it was adopted to please the department's administrator (and bestower of Jimmy John's). If he can't see us in our Siberia, he can't know whether or not we huddle, is my fervent hope.
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