Buh-bye 17th floor

In the past year working here, I’ve always griped about the longish commute in the morning, the grid-like antisocial layout of the office and the constant hordes of people milling about the shopping wing of this complex.

And yet, sitting here on the last day I’ll spend in this office before we get shipped off to another (our magazine was acquired), I know I’ll miss it. The food, the last-minute gift saviours (thank you, shopping wing!), the cheap(er) parking, and even the grid of the office layout—nobody steps into my workspace because they can’t—once I’m in, it’s at full capacity—but it’s a little cube that allows some solace whilst I work.

In my Editor’s room earlier, I found myself saying that one drag of going to a new office, assimilating into their culture culture and the majority of colleagues that were already there is the pain of having to make new friends. Whoah—Wait a minute. When did I become so antisocial? Blame it on the current setup, maybe. Or perhaps the apprehension is not unlike that of the first day at school, when you’re worried that nobody will like you, or (as you lose your naivety by teenage years) that everybody will be superficial and you won’t have real friends.

Everything packed.

As I mentally prepare to go, I’m also plagued by all sorts of irrational fears my mother’s planted through the years. “You get to wear jeans to work? Casual wear? You’ll become sloppy…And then you’ll get fat!” she said last week.

Seems like that’s the penalty of any situation she doesn’t see fit:

“What? You’re working overtime? Don’t forget to eat…Or you’ll gorge yourself later…And then you’ll get fat.”

“If you play video games, you’ll be sitting all the time. And then? You know, lah. You’ll get fat.”

“Coming home late all the time means your body clock is messed up. And then everything will break down. And? That’s right. You’ll get fat.”

“What happened to your running routine? Do you want to get fat, or what?”

And the topper, which I still recall from our trip to Hawaii about ten years ago: “You know, the hawaiian national costume is like that because the people are so fat,” she says. Pausing to think, she continues: “Or is it that they get fat because their daily wear has give?” The chicken-and-egg conundrum she’s spun herself into keeps her silent for a while, before she arrives at resolution:

“You know, that’s why I always say, don’t be sloppy. Or you’ll get fat.”

The Grid