A WINDOW IN MY OFFICE


I worked at Rockwell International Corp. for thirty five years. I was very  fortunate in that in  all that time I was never out of work due to layoffs or other calamities of that nature. I am able to look back on this period of my life and recall fondly many events or situations. The memories of which never fail to remind me of my very good fortune to have worked with people that can only be described as a little “different”. I want to be very clear on this point. I appreciate and celebrate people who are a little “different”. Some people turn out to be a little “different” in subtle and surprising ways. For instance, we have the story of my window. Having a window in your office has been an indicator of status for a very long time. I do not consider myself to be a fan of persons who demand every perk due to persons of their perceived status. In fact, I try to avoid them as I find them to be boring. They tend to talk about themselves excessively, and that usually cuts into the time I need to talk about myself. But enough of that! Back to my story about me and my window. I was assigned to a room large enough to have at least two desks . The room was built next to an interior wall and this alone was enough to convince me that I was not going to have a window any time soon. Besides, my co-occupant of this windowless room was our expert on gas bearing theory and the proprietor of a carrot farm in Arizona. Stan and I were never at a loss for something to discuss. Somehow, the subject of windows and status came up. We were of the same mind. We deserved to have a window in our room. I decided to ask for a window for our room. At the next opportune time, I put my request to my supervisor, knowing full well I would be rebuffed. He said he would start right away on getting me a window. As I left, I wondered if he had confused me with someone else.

A few days later, my supervisor called and told me my window was finished and I could come and pick it up. On my way his office (complete with a nice view through his big window) I wondered if I was a pawn in a game I did not understand. When I got there, Fred handed me my window. It was a hand drawn picture of a window. It looked as if it had been drawn by a young child and it was rendered in crayola. My instinct was correct, I was a pawn and I had just been had. I took the picture back to our room and pined to the wall and there it stayed until I became a Manager and I had a window bigger than Fred’s.

P.S. Some of this story is actually true.

One response to this post.

  1. Posted by Susan Johnson on December 23, 2017 at 8:27 am

    Very Funny!

    Reply

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