“He has his own office.”
“Again, finally,” one might say. History has repeated itself in nearly 46 years.
“Wet behind the ears,” repeating the familiar cliché, sheepskin in hand walked into the big block-square highfalutin brick building headquarters.
As the first fulltime editor there, very own office was right inside the front door to the right. Big walnut desk, leather rocking chair, personal phone, right up with the big folks, or thought so.
Still for several weeks, then off and on for a very longtime after, always concerned about being fired. Subsided over decades, but came to actuality in 36½ years.
Through that time, locations in the office did change though, at least a handful. When an intern came in, then hired as a news coworker, too, the fancy personal office was shared for a spell. It wasn’t private then, rather cohabited, creating a definite ugh.
From there, several different places in the large main office area became “work station,” with desk, phone and files. There was no privacy for an always load talking cowboy, everybody heard every word, and that sure wasn’t good.
Nothing stays the same, fortunately in many situations, and again the powers-that-be assigned another personal office. There were actually quite a few perks with it. Privacy such could close the door, although typically didn’t, yet ample storage space, uptown again. A nice retired woman was even hired to come sometimes to help with filing and organization.
That transitioned again in 10 years or so, back to a desk in makeshift cubicle. Not everything obvious, but loud talker still audible to all others.
Then, the young boss who’d been handed keys to the business was prodded by the bookkeeper, and likely a teenybopper. “All he does is talk horses, kick him out.” And, they did.
Got the new job four days later, but there was no glamour or prestige to working conditions. Oh, the main studio is quite nice, high on the hill, overlooking the city. But salesmen are in the basement, “cellar,” “dungeon” could be called for orneriness. Desk, with four drawers, cupboard, shelf and phone was “workstation,” self-defined “cubbyhole,” “pigeonhole,” whatever.
After nine years there, got nice personal office again. Take it, what the heck.
Reminded of Ecclesiastes 3:15: “God seeks what has passed by so that history repeats itself.”