My Office

When Carl first moved into my office, I shifted from the desk I had at the time, to the one that Michelle vacated.  I did this because I didn’t like sitting under the Aircon, or with my back to the door.  Carl wanted to know why I got to choose my desk, and he didn’t.

A single worded reply.  “Seniority”.

I had been here longer.  (By about 6 months).

“How long have you been in public service?” he asks.

“Thirty seven years”  I reply.

“Forty three, me.” Says Carl.

Which means he became a public servant before he was ten.

“Feck off!”

He is really looking forward to my bike ride to the north of the State.  Carl thinks that while I am gone he will be able to reconfigure the office to his own liking.  He has already moved all my posters aside  and replaced them with football shirts. He is planning to dump all my books and equipment and rearrange the furniture.

This could mean WAR.



About Alan

Alone in a sea of spinifex.
This entry was posted in Life, don't talk to me about life!. Bookmark the permalink.

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