Monday, monday. The beginning of another week.

Today, I played office worker once again. As these things go it was a fairly easy day. Just put in the prerequisite face time at the client applying the finishing touches on Little Boy. Little Boy will officially be a thing of the past as of tomorrow for which I am thankful but, the Fat Man is still lumbering around demanding attention.

So, I drove in early this afternoon, another beautiful day for a drive. Coming down the West Side Highway you could just catch the saltiness in the breeze coming off of New York Bay, it made me think about going out to the beach this year although I am the epitome of white, having taken on a luminous pallor from being indoors so long and so much.

Anyway, I was blessed and found a parking space rapidly (under five minutes for which I will sacrifice a Matchbox car to the parking gods) and made my way down to the office via the subway. How tough it was to go in and be ensconced in my own office (not) whiling away the hours.

So, what it bought to mind was this long-time client I had awhile back. The people in charge paid a lot of lip service to the whole touchy-feely aspect of the work environment. To that end, they bought into creating a workspace where there were no walls and everyone worked in a large open area with absolutely no privacy whatsoever. The irony of course was these selfsame people implementing this policy also were equally sure they would have an office of their own to collect their thoughts and have a bit of solitude. Funny how they never really seemed to deem it necessary for themselves to be a part of the “big team” in the large wall-free room.

A by-product of this “team” space was the virtual impossibility to have anything resembling a private conversation with a coworker or on the phone (don’t even dream of picking your nose - which of course none of us does). If at any time while I was there you found yourself involved in some kind of “team” discourse with a coworker, it was generally frowned upon and you were chided for the behavior (with the admonition to “keep it down and be respectful of your neighbor”). I of course, had the good fortune to be situated outside a conference room, which for some reason (I still have yet to fathom) had a door that remained open during meetings. I would sit trying to focus on my work, while fighting to block out the din of each of the meetings occurring just a few feet behind me.

They say that there’s no “I’ in team but there certainly is a “u” in f**k, get it?

So, going into a place as a hired gun and having an office of my own is a treat and no matter what anyone tries to foist on me about that whole “team” atmosphere junk, I’m not buying - as we would say in the old neighborhood, it’s a load of crap.

Which leads me into another topic...

I have realized I am succumbing to GOMBA. At first glance, you’d think it has something to do with being Italian but, in reality it’s nothing of the sort. A GOMBA is just a Grumpy Old Man Becoming Agitated. It happens to men after the age of forty, it’s not a permanent condition and the symptoms are usually temporary. If you witness a someone on your life who has been stricken by GOMBA, try to help - I find ice cream can alleviate much of the symptoms or any kind of comfort food will do the trick.