Wedged In
My office is moving. Two blocks. And lo, the aggravation that two measley blocks in the city is causing us...
Just like when you move homes, you have to pack up everything. Is there any torture more torturous? I am going to go out on a limb here and say, "NO." Apparently I have unwittingly accumulated over 6 paris of shoes under my desk. How did this happen? May I remind you that I no longer fit into a single pair of shoes due to the swelling in my feet? So the shoes, yeah, they don't really seem necessary. Flip flops are really the only relevant footwear for me now. Thank the sweet Lord it is summer!
So where was I before I got off on a rant about the CRAZY swelling in my feet? Oh, that's right, the office move. Due to the impending move, we ordered a bazillion (I am not kidding, we actually asked for a 'bazillion') plastic orange crates approximately the size of a large laundry basket with a lid. We were told to pack all our files and belongings into said crates, stack them three crates high on a wheelie thing and lable each crate with a specially numbered tag representing our office. So far you are following me right? Well you would be one step ahead of me, because I had difficulty with the corresponding number/office tag concept.
After my secretary explained it to me for the fifth time, we started packing. She is older, and I didn't want her lifting anything too heavy. I am pregnant, so she didn't want me lifting anything too heavy. Fighting ensued. We clearly made a great packing team. You see where this is going right?
We packed the crates, one crate at a time, one file at a time. Then we would call in someone to stack them. Because I have difficulty bending due to the human being inside my stomach, I sat on the floor and packed the crates as my secretary handed me the files. That way, I didn't have to bend, and neither did she. The crates began to stack up all around me. I stayed put, and my secretary would just bring an empty crate and put it next to me where the full crate that had gotten stacked had been. It was really minimal effort on my part.
Pretty soon, I had stacks of crates all around me. I was facing the window, and my back was to the door. My secretary organized the stacks so that she left a pathway directly behind me so we could get to the door. Then, unbenknownst to me, she walked out to the copy room or something. Who knows where she went, but she didn't tell me. Shortly after her departure, I finished packing the crate next to me and decided I had to go to the bathroom. Executing this task required that I get up.
Immediately to my left was a stack of crates. Immediately to my right was a heavy crate freshly packed and up against a stack of crates. Does anyone see the problem here?
In order for me to get up, I needed to roll from a sitting position over onto my hands and knees and then most likely with assistance, pull myself up. There was no room to roll over, and no one to assist.
I yelled to my secretary to come into my office. There was no reply. Clearly she was not at her desk. Then and there, I mentally assured myself that if I found out she was downstairs smoking a cigarette, I would strangle her with my bare hands...assuming I was ever ambulatory again.
I sat there, wedged in between the crates for a minute, contemplating my situation. Butterman was kicking, and I was just sitting there. Kind of relaxing once I gave up hope for myself, actually.
But then I remembered that I had to pee. "Guys, anyone?" "Help me, I'm wedged in" "I can't get up" each statement made with more urgency.
In the office next to mine, is a name partner. He is older, and kind of stodgy. Definitely WASPY would be a good word. Anyway, he came running in and before I could say anything, he superhumanly pushed over one of the stacks of crates in a total panic. He obviously thought I had fallen. Then I rolled over and grabbed his arm to pull myself up, and he almost fell over.
I just looked at him and said "thanks, I was stuck down there" and then went to go to the bathroom. It occurred to me later that this partner was probably counting down the minutes to the move when his office would be far, far away from mine...
Just like when you move homes, you have to pack up everything. Is there any torture more torturous? I am going to go out on a limb here and say, "NO." Apparently I have unwittingly accumulated over 6 paris of shoes under my desk. How did this happen? May I remind you that I no longer fit into a single pair of shoes due to the swelling in my feet? So the shoes, yeah, they don't really seem necessary. Flip flops are really the only relevant footwear for me now. Thank the sweet Lord it is summer!
So where was I before I got off on a rant about the CRAZY swelling in my feet? Oh, that's right, the office move. Due to the impending move, we ordered a bazillion (I am not kidding, we actually asked for a 'bazillion') plastic orange crates approximately the size of a large laundry basket with a lid. We were told to pack all our files and belongings into said crates, stack them three crates high on a wheelie thing and lable each crate with a specially numbered tag representing our office. So far you are following me right? Well you would be one step ahead of me, because I had difficulty with the corresponding number/office tag concept.
After my secretary explained it to me for the fifth time, we started packing. She is older, and I didn't want her lifting anything too heavy. I am pregnant, so she didn't want me lifting anything too heavy. Fighting ensued. We clearly made a great packing team. You see where this is going right?
We packed the crates, one crate at a time, one file at a time. Then we would call in someone to stack them. Because I have difficulty bending due to the human being inside my stomach, I sat on the floor and packed the crates as my secretary handed me the files. That way, I didn't have to bend, and neither did she. The crates began to stack up all around me. I stayed put, and my secretary would just bring an empty crate and put it next to me where the full crate that had gotten stacked had been. It was really minimal effort on my part.
Pretty soon, I had stacks of crates all around me. I was facing the window, and my back was to the door. My secretary organized the stacks so that she left a pathway directly behind me so we could get to the door. Then, unbenknownst to me, she walked out to the copy room or something. Who knows where she went, but she didn't tell me. Shortly after her departure, I finished packing the crate next to me and decided I had to go to the bathroom. Executing this task required that I get up.
Immediately to my left was a stack of crates. Immediately to my right was a heavy crate freshly packed and up against a stack of crates. Does anyone see the problem here?
In order for me to get up, I needed to roll from a sitting position over onto my hands and knees and then most likely with assistance, pull myself up. There was no room to roll over, and no one to assist.
I yelled to my secretary to come into my office. There was no reply. Clearly she was not at her desk. Then and there, I mentally assured myself that if I found out she was downstairs smoking a cigarette, I would strangle her with my bare hands...assuming I was ever ambulatory again.
I sat there, wedged in between the crates for a minute, contemplating my situation. Butterman was kicking, and I was just sitting there. Kind of relaxing once I gave up hope for myself, actually.
But then I remembered that I had to pee. "Guys, anyone?" "Help me, I'm wedged in" "I can't get up" each statement made with more urgency.
In the office next to mine, is a name partner. He is older, and kind of stodgy. Definitely WASPY would be a good word. Anyway, he came running in and before I could say anything, he superhumanly pushed over one of the stacks of crates in a total panic. He obviously thought I had fallen. Then I rolled over and grabbed his arm to pull myself up, and he almost fell over.
I just looked at him and said "thanks, I was stuck down there" and then went to go to the bathroom. It occurred to me later that this partner was probably counting down the minutes to the move when his office would be far, far away from mine...
posted by Newlywife at 8:50 AM
3 Comments:
Oh my gosh! You poor thing! ...and I feel just a little bad for laughing hysterically. I can only imagine the panic that set in. Well, I'm glad you recovered nicely. And, while it may mean you don't become a partner anytime soon, at least you have your dignity. ...Well at least you have your secretary :)
And, for your reading enjoyment... your post reminded me of one of my alltime favorite posts by Tequila Mockingbird regarding her law office moving offices. http://tequilamockingbird.blogspot.com/2004/09/every-day-i-do-not-get-fired-is.html
Warning: use the restroom first -- it's so funny you may pee a little.
What a great story! Well, not that you were stranded amid orange crates....but funny nonetheless. I've heard of expectant women who never go anywhere (even on the ground) without their cell phone. Then, when they are trapped and have no ability to get up, they can literally call for help. Thank goodness Mr. Partner was so close by!
It's humbling to be pregnant, isn't it? The things you didn't think you'd ever need help with before...I remember asking my husband if he could just please tie my shoes for me!?!
I'm glad this ended well and that help was literally right around the corner. Keep this in mind, however, when it's review time for the secretary!! (Hey, wait, I think she needs to go. I mean, I would make a great secretary and I don't take smoke breaks!!)
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