Tales from the Workplace – The Mascot
Forgot to post - April, 2022
I look left, I look right. My mouse has gone. It’s weird because it was there before I had lunch.
I look left, I look right. Wow.
I lift up a couple of things where it’s ergonomically impossible for a mouse to hide.
How can this be?
NIKITA.
I raise my voice because she’s behind a screen behind me. Baffled, I look to the ceiling.
I’VE LOST MY MOUSE.
I drop my head.
Oh.
It’s bang right in front of me.
Hm.
I google mouse to make sure it’s still a relevant term.
I’d returned to the office early in March after two months working at home because Omicron had struck Vancouver and it was like people couldn’t get sick fast enough.
I’m a fan of the office because remotely things don’t always translate and I need to minimize one-to-one conversations on Teams where my tendency to rewrite (and still get things wrong) can be alarming. Although this point is moot as I’m the only member of my team who goes into the office - funny how it takes paragraph to explain that I’m slow.
Still, it’s a wonder to watch a younger colleague’s cursor fly across one screen to the next like an esport. How are you doing that? Why are you doing that? Really?
I’m also a fan of going to the office because we’re social beings - imagine if no one was there to witness my mouse incident?
Upon my return the ceiling was still leaking. It’s not something that bothered me, so I pretty much ignored it (which is elite slang to say I didn’t notice it).
THE LEAK
The leak’s been going on for several months. There’ve been several explorations, several explanations, several attempted fixes, and several more defensive explanations.
I’m really not interested (and do you have to be so loud). I’m not an engineer, I can’t help. I’m a sort of, “If there’s a problem fix it person.” You know, very CEO-like (let’s check that box — whoosh, check).
As others started their day, they noted the leak and placed garbage cans to collect the water dropping from various places in the ceiling (I’m busy). The choreography was impressive as they moved back and forth, looking up, adjusting. Then it started…
Hey, did you know the ceiling hadn’t leaked for two months?
Huh, the ceiling didn’t leak while you were at home.
When did this start? It hasn’t leaked in two months.
It continued, all we needed were revolving doors
That’s funny it didn’t leak when you were working from home.
Did you know the ceiling didn’t leak for two months?
Wow. This is worse than before when it leaked. Two months… it didn’t leak when you weren’t here.
A longing look at the ceiling, then a faint smile, it didn’t leak while you were gone.
OMG It’s leaking again, it hasn’t leaked for two months (flashes me a look).
I have more of these lines, but it’s possible that’s more lines than there were people in the office.
Returning to the office brought up other issues. The first internal meeting left me confused (and I suspect everyone else), because I could see, hear and be heard, and yet, not be seen.
What? Someone stole the camera?
God damn it!
Of course, there was a simple explanation.
That missing camera was sent to me at home when the one I was using stopped functioning (nothing breaks anymore).
You mean you couldn’t spend $39 on a new camera for me?
Deflated, I felt like going on a narcissistic trip. The sort of thing millennials are pilloried for. Except I, Gen X, so prefer grunt, confusion, and endless Office Space references. I’m not the stapler guy, okay?
(Have to say I find most of the millennial tropes to be hollow, although that’s possibly because I’m working with Gen Z and haven’t realized).
I was confused because…
Anyway, I was thinking the 2020s version of stapler guy is a mascot, someone you can pat, who sticks around much longer than they should. They’re very nice (if odd), and wondered how I could fit in.
That it took me 2.5 hours to realize I didn’t have a camera might be a good start.
THE NEXT DAY
COULD THE PERSON MAKING THAT NOISE MUTE THEIR MIC.
It wasn’t me. I was talking. It was the huddle. My turn. Damn right people should be muted. It was an annoying static scratchy sound, and it was LOUD.
OFF THE CHARTS LOUD.
I could see more than one person mute 🤭🙀 (yeah people, get a grip)
So I continued. And so did the super loud SCRATCHY sound.
Oh.
Err.
Um.
IT WAS ME.
The mic was rubbing against my stubble when I was talking.
I’d put on so much weight, my head had become a human beach ball.
I shaved the next day.
You’re welcome to call me a problem solver (don’t hold back).
A few days later I was watching a colleague’s home video done to Easy Lover (it’s not what you’re thinking), which momentarily blared for about five minutes as I briefly forgot I could adjust the volume on the keyboard.
I was transfixed, making mental notes of all the edits.
I can’t describe the video without it sounding horribly wrong (it’s still not what you’re thinking).
Then the polite smiles came.
I think we should get you a new headset.
Or you could turn down the volume.
Yeh, I know. I bumbled, I was just wowed, mesmerized by that video (it’s still not what you’re thinking)
Within seconds a new wireless headset was presented to me.
Ah…
See…
I am respected.
Loved (even). No need for a pre-millennial entitled meltdown.
The old wired headphones were whisked away and I went straight into a meeting to find I couldn’t hear anything. WTF.
Well hell, no one said anything about an “on” button.
I found it but still couldn’t hear. Damn, the thing needed to be charged and so I plugged in the charging cable (problem solving level 2 certified).
But where one little bitty problem is solved, another arises.
The charging cable was on the short side. I eyed it suspiciously and with resentment. I knew where this was heading. The cable was designed for a laptop and I have a desktop. I was asked once why desktops were called desktops when they sit on the floor and I elaborated on a brief history of office computing. It was almost a Ted Talk.
The point being, to participate in the meeting, I am on the floor… on my knees.
Yes, yes, I know, this screams Hire me.
It called for improv and have to say, I handled this brilliantly. Glee emoji. 🤩
To be seen I stretch like a giraffe, but with my Covid size I’m more a hippo, my face barely making it in the corner of the screen when needed to speak.
I converse, pretending everything’s normal.
I was calm (blue blood runs through my veins, don’t you know), authoritative (at least I think), dead serious, no need for irresistable quips (I just can’t help myself), or drawing unwanted attention (I just can’t help myself), or unquantifiable um’s and ah’s (I just can’t...)
When my input wasn’t needed (which frankly is too often) I muted and gasped for breath offscreen. And scrambled back when required.
It was in that time-sucking moment, waiting, desperate for it to end when…
Oh, hold on...
I’m...
Uh...
err...
Oh... no...
It dawns...
A mascot.
Notes
Tips from the top. Never place a mouse directly in front of you.
The leak was fixed within a few weeks.
I’m the last desktop hold out (a separate short tale from the workplace).