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If I cooked a largish yeti...

Issue Date: Wednesday, Mar. 01, 2006

For the past several days I have been putting off the inevitable. I know I must pack up my desk and my little belongings. I know this. I know we are moving offices and I can not just crawl inside one of these orange crates* and hide until it is all over. Ya’ll know how I feel about moving. Well, it really isn’t the moving that bothers me… it is the freaking packing.

When I started here at White Guys with Ties (TM Crazy Aunt Purl) over two years ago I was placed in an office with full file drawers, full bookcase with eleventy four three ring binders and several tiny little drawers with… well, just stuff crammed inside. I did not know what I would need because I was taking over the job of the dude who had just been promoted. But the guy who had previously inhabited my desk went west (young man) and left behind everything from mini cassette recorders to a bottle of rubbing alcohol(?).

Little by little I have pared down the files so that the ones I use regularly all fit into one of the file drawers in this tiny desk. I have weeded out the three ring notebooks with stuff like Correspondence 1999 and (Random State – not ours) Membership Guidelines and the like. I have thrown out file folder after file folder. But today was the first day that I took the tiny little drawers to task.

The one on my right? I suppose that if I cooked a largish yeti (boiled, baked or braised) that I would have enough condiments to please just about every palate. Ketchup packets galore, hot sauce and picante, enough soy, duck sauce and hot mustard to supply a local Chinese food restaurant for a week and the little mints? Lord. The little mints are running amok in my drawer. Salt and pepper packets too. And enough plastic covered forks and spoons and knives to keep me from washing a utensil for the next few months. I kept the condiments that I wanted inside little Ziplock™ bag so I know the ones that are mine. To think that these condiments that other guy left have been fermenting in my drawer makes me all squinky.

The one on my left? Post-It™ notes of ever size shape and color. Lined and unlined, accordion like to fit in one of the desktop dispensers and regular with little bits of fuzz stuck to the adhesive. Approximately eighteen yellow highlighters, seventy pencils (that I never use) and at least a dozen blue, black and red pens.

The tiny drawer on the second desk was filled with legal pads and a pen, highlighter and pencil selection to rival the drawer to my left. What? Did this guy have a pen issue? We have a supply closet. Really we do. There are little bins full of black pens, blue pens, red pens, highlighters and pencils. The bins are full. It isn’t like he was going to take a note while he was on the phone one day and turned around not able to find the little nub of a charcoal pencil that he used to jot down information while his tiny little gas lantern flickered in the window. No need to hoard it Abraham, there are plenty of writing apparatuses (apparati?) for everyone.

So here I sit today, listening to REO Speedwagon (don’t judge) and scratching tiny little marks on paper with each pen/pencil/highlighter I find. If the pen works I place it in the blue pen pile, the black pen pile, the red pen pile, the pencil pile or the highlighter pile. Why you ask? Well, I guess I am just that way. I have thrown away all of the condiments and the napkins. I have found about four dozen little binder clips and two Mary Kay© catalogs. (Yes, those were mine.)

I don’t want to pack. I don’t want to take down my yearly planner calendars that I have tacked to the wall so I know what city I am supposed to be in on what day. Granted, I have three of these things on my walls. 2005 and 2006 in front of me and 2004 behind me. What? Is that a little excessive?

I can’t even take my desk with me. Or the divider that splits this office in two. I will be moving into a sea of cubicles and will be able to prairie dog along side everyone else, God willing, with a little practice by the 13th of March.

*Maybe I have seen The Fifth Element one too many times but every time someone says the word crate(s) I have the following dialog run through my noggin…
Aknot: You asked for a case, we brought you a case.
Zorg: A case with FOUR STONES in it! Not one or two or three, but four! Four stones! What the hell am I supposed to do with an empty case?
Aknot: We are warriors, not merchants.
Zorg: But you can still count! Look, it's easy. Look at my fingers: four stones, four crates. Zero stones? ZERO CRATES!

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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