The vibrating desk
Back in 2005 just after I got married I got myself a job at an American biotech firm as one half of a two person team of European Marketing Executives. The other person had to work their 2 month notice period but they wanted me onboard straight away. Things were shaping up to be hectic and stressful. They pushed my start date forward twice. Once asking if next week was OK and then they called again and said "yeahhhhhh, how about tomorrow?"

I arrived. I had a meet and greet with my temporary line manager who navigated me through what can only be described as an air conditioned cattle shed. Big, ugly open plan office. Hundreds of people sitting within what seemed like centimetres of each other. Where was she taking me? What fate lay in store? Was the canteen subsidised? This and many other questions were running through my mind.

We made our way to a glass panelled room. It was my office!

I felt like a fucking king. I got to stare down on the minions who worked there (it was slightly elevated. I had to walk up a ramp to get to the door) whilst I sat in my own private space. None of this 8 desk cluster bullshit. I had my own desk, with my own chair and my own computer in my own office.

Life was sweet.

For about an hour.

Then my desk began to vibrate.

Now, it has to be highlighted that my manager had a bit of a cougar thing going on and my very first thoughts involved her trying to seduce me using a very elaborate and technically involved method whereby my entire workstation was rigged to act as a office themed marital aid.

About 2 seconds later I realised why my plush, private, palatial office was vacant. It was situated directly over a huge piece of humming machinery (the whole office was above part of the manufacturing facility) which turned on and off at frequent intervals.

So I sat there at my novelty vibrating desk waiting for someone to come and see me about orientation and a more detailed discussion regarding the ins and outs of my role within their organisation.

They never came.

For 10 weeks!

I did have a very interesting discussion with my "manager" regarding whether or not she should blow 2 grand on a trip to lapland to see santa with her youngest daughter. Other than that I got to sit at a desk with chronic intermittent diesel dick and all you can eat access to the gloriously unfiltered intermawebs.

Finally, after two and a half months they got their shit together and introduced me to my new line manager. His name was richard and he was a dick. He was pushing forty and our first meeting involved him sitting across from me wearing baggy jeans, skate shoes and the all time classic, t-shirt over long sleeve combo.

At the end of our meeting he finished off with a steve jobs like sign off.

"oh, OTT. Nice bag. snigger snigger".

I walked out with my briefcase and resolved never to set foot back in the place.

I took them for another month of sick pay and then handed in my notice. His response? Garden leave. I enjoyed that summer and autumn without having to work another minute and got myself a proper job in the new year.

I still miss the desk sometimes.
(OTT, Wed 15 Sep 2010, 22:03, Reply)