I’ve never sat in an office for eight hours a day, five days a week. I always forget to mention this quirk when I’m interviewing, but apparently no one assumes that I can sit in an office with any sort of consistency. It all works out fine.
Working with young folk has always been one of the favorite parts of my work, mainly because they tend to slap me with wisdom so ancient I am left standing there looking like a fool. It strikes me as funny, though, that while my bosses are okay with my transient habits, the savvy young folk surrounding me are the least comfortable. Undoubtedly, some of them prefer me to be at my desk where they can see me.
Working offsite, even with the full understanding of my supervisor, is not a neutral prospect. Context collapse is more uncomfortable when working up the power hierarchy than down it. So I sent the following email:
A broken mouse / the Millhiser mouse (ya know, for a blood sacrifice)
Day room gift certificate
*If you don’t respond with haste, I’ll assume you really aren’t “HERE”Best,