Yet another cube

The offices on my floor of my work's new building aren't going to have doors, because apparently it's too expensive. That's right – it's too expensive to screw a door into the open doorway of my office. Honestly, every time this workplace does something right, they seem determined to do two or three other utterly stupid things, as if actually functioning as a well-run business would be somehow letting the side down.

As soon as we move in, I'm going to be measuring up that doorway and heading to Mitre 10 to buy myself a bloody door. Prince Valiant, who does not have an office, doesn't understand what I am fussing about. But I used to have an office – a small office, true, but I had a door, and walls, and my own bookshelf, and I could have meetings in privacy, and conduct phone discussions with clients and block out the noise of the office while doing so. I have worked for over a year now in open plan, going slowly mad, and dreaming of the day when we would move and I would have an office again. And now I find out that I am in fact getting three walls, and not an office at all.

Pink Lawyer, who is very tall and used to work as a prison guard, told me a story about her employers refusing to have her uniform pants tailored so that they would fit her (so that she wouldn't have inches of bare calf between pant legs and shoes). She got herself some bright pink material, and sewed it onto the bottom of her pants, telling them that was all she could afford. They sent her off to the tailors that day. Prince Valiant, inspired by this story, has suggested that I paint my office door pink, and tell them that's all I could afford. I must say, I am rather tempted.