pick a little peck a little

when i was very young, i wanted to be a teacher. the reason i wanted to be a teacher was that i wanted a teacher desk. i was fascinated by all those drawers and dividers and pen holders and knick knacks. later on, i stopped wanting to be a teacher, but i never stopped wanting the desk.

so, when i got an office with TWO desks at my last job, i thought i was pretty much at the pinnacle of my career. some days i would switch back and forth from desk to desk, just to point out to the universe that i had everything i wanted. apparently the universe thought i was getting cocky, because one day my job and my two desks were downsized. suddenly, the dream was over.

or was it?

yes it was. my next job--which i still have--was in cubesvilleland, and it came with exactly zero possibility of an office. nevertheless, the universe decided i could keep some small measure of privacy. i ended up working across the aisle from "the library," an empty cube that was used as a communal dump for books and papers that no one wanted. since there are a grand total of three actual offices on my floor, working across from the library was about the most private situation i could have asked for, and, even though i only had one desk, i was relatively content.

until last fall, that is. last fall the universe decided to spice things up a bit by bringing new girl to cubesvilleland and plopping her down in the library. suddenly, with new girl in the library, i was facing a problem i had never anticipated. and i'm still dealing with it.

the problem isn't new girl herself. she and i get along fine. we have a similar sense of humor. we went to the same college. new girl and i are good. the problem is that instead of working across the aisle from the library, now i work across from a person.

and you can't pick your nose in front of a person.

yep, nose-picking: everyone's dirty little cover-up. i'm convinced everyone does it and we're all going to keep doing it until humankind meets its ultimate demise. i guarantee that every time you pick your own nose, there's someone else three rows down doing it too. but, for better or worse, our society makes sure that most people would rather fart in an elevator than be caught picking their nose.

i'm no exception. i'm not an avid picker, and i'm definitely not an eater. i'm just like anyone else--from time to time, things get stuck up there that can withstand even the mightiest, windiest blow, and it takes a little prodding to get them moving. i have a box of kleenex and a garbage can to keep the process sanitary. and when things get dicey, the men's room is right nearby. when the need arises, i have everything i need to get things taken care of. but now i have something else that makes the whole process more complicated: an audience. and i don't like it.

from now on, i have to turn around and see if new girl is there. or in an emergency, do a quick check to see if she's looking my way. all those years working in my office and across from the library i could forget my inhibitions and go to town anytime. if i wanted to, i could have stuck my finger up my nose and left it hanging out until it was needed. but no more.

so here's to one more thing i've traded in for job-security and benefits. just like my second desk, the salary that was really tied to performance, and that satisfied feeling at the end of a day doing a job that actually mattered to the future of my employer, the freedom to pick my nose is gone. and that trade is looking more and more like a bum deal.