I'm Running a Sh*tshow, Part 4

Guys, I think...this is the last installment of the Great Office Move of 2023! 

Here are the first three parts if you want to review:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

So. We are moved in. Those of you who have moved home or office before know what "moved in" means. We are fully out of the old place. We are fully in the new place. All the boxes are unpacked. Their contents are spread out in an ungodly patternless mess, and nobody quite knows where to put it all or where to find it in the meantime.

You know, moved in.

Or, everything everywhere all at once. As it were.

I'll spare you the details of the long days and the 10,421 details I've been chasing. They're not interesting, not even to me. But here are a few tidbits to tie off this stressful, difficult, maddening, weird experience for good and all. Enjoy.

People who know what they're doing are amazing, no matter what they do. I benefited from the experience and skill of so many people, from furniture installers to electricians to construction workers who somehow turned a cavernous empty space into a beautiful, modern, perfectly put-together office. I couldn't do one percent of what these talented men (and they were almost entirely men in this case) could do, and they all have my mad respect for their hard work.

Making hard decisions is hard. The day before all 100+ people were supposed to report to the new office - a Sunday afternoon - I received word that a number of electrical and other problems hadn't been resolved. All through the buildout process, my boss had been adamant about our move-in date. Adamant. And he had left it in my hands to make it happen. On that Sunday afternoon I conferred with several other people who 1) believed it couldn't happen but 2) had no intention of saying that on the record. It was, without a doubt, the biggest and most difficult judgment call I ever had to make in my 350-year (or whatever it's been) career. In the end I made the decision to recommend pushing back the sacred move-in day. And my boss acted on my recommendation. And...it was the right call. 

Artist's rendering of my boss hearing
the bad news.

People's priorities are...weird. Our new building has some sweet amenities, including a state-of-the-art gym that includes a yoga studio and showers with towel service. I had people asking me a week before we even moved in when they could start using the facilities. And when I sent out the forms required to get access, it seemed as if the entire business of unpacking, not to mention the actual, you know, work that we all do, stopped dead. I was inundated, first with forms and then with people asking when the access they'd requested 30 minutes earlier would kick in. Never mind that some people still didn't have internet or couldn't find the boxes containing their belongings. All they wanted was to ride the communal sweaty Peloton. For the record, I'll bet an internet dollar that 80% of those people will never use the gym.

Office fixtures are stupid expensive. The whiteboards in our conference rooms cost $700. Each. Those are the smaller ones. The larger ones were over $1,000 each. We spent $60,000 on window shades. The chair at my desk cost $900, and there are more than 60 of them in the office. This is a racket. OMG.

I developed a moderate crush on our construction superintendent. I'm going to call it moderate. Not like a "I have dreamed of him" crush. OK, that's a lie, I have totally dreamed of him. He is super-competent, he is kind, he's smart and funny, and he comes by almost every day to make sure all the little things that need fixing are fixed. He's also so cute. He is married, he has adorable kids, he's 20 years younger than I am, and oh yeah I'm in a committed relationship with a Drummer Boy whom I love with all my heart. But I can, you know, dream. 

I'm a dirty old lady with the heart of a child.

That's the end of this saga. Back to the daily grind, albeit in much nicer digs than before. Was the extreme stress worth it? Probably not. But it gave me four blog posts, and in my world that's a win.

May you live in less interesting times than mine. Thanks for reading.

I'm Running a Sh*tshow, Part 2

 So where were we?

Oh yeah, I'm overseeing a massive relocation of my office. How terrifying.

Free graphics are great, aren't they?

In our last installment, I was a naive little thing. I had been attending construction meetings at our new office space for months, in which I listened intently to people who know more about construction than I do, to approximately the same extent that a gynecologist knows more about female anatomy than a 14 year old boy with a gaming addiction and limited Google skills. If you catch my drift.

Anyway, the construction meetings were fun because they got me out of the office for a while and they always wrapped up with a walk-through of the new space so we could see how the renovations were coming along. And then all my co-workers would ask me "How's it lookin' over there?" and I could smile knowingly and drop a few hints or show off a couple of pictures I'd taken on my phone that didn't really show a lot but kept people super-interested and hanging on my every word.

I am absolutely insufferable sometimes.

Yes, I am.

Oh sure, this whole time I've been making seating charts and talking with vendors and such. But honestly, none of that stuff has been really hard work. It's given me a little bit of extra overtime, which never hurts. But mostly I've been supporting the people doing the hard work.

Then, last week, shit got real. We started packing, and scheduling movers, and sent everyone but a skeleton crew home to work so said skeletons could do the labor of getting an office of 80+ people out of one building and into another.

And suddenly an enormous amount of responsibility perched, like a hungry condor, upon my shoulders.

Not a condor.
But super cute.

People had to do what I told them to do. Which means I had to tell them what to do. And guys, I'm no damn good at telling people what to do. Which is probably why, over the last week, so many people have not done, you know, that.

I've had "helpful" co-workers who, instead of putting trash in trash bags, threw loose papers and junk straight into the trash gondola lent to us by property management. And then left the freaking gondola in the elevator lobby and walked away. 

I've had hard-working helpers who decided that the most important things to pack first were all the scissors. Because who needs scissors when you're wrapping, packing, and breaking down boxes?

I've had wise IT guys who shut down our server when I was trying to finish up a bunch of work before the server was shut down. Without a heads-up or a warning. His reasoning? "I had no idea you were here." (I was one of just four people who had been in the office all week. And, you know, was supervising everyone's activities.)

IT guys in general are amazing. But that was a camel, meet straw situation.

"My back! My back!"

And I had a vendor who gave me a quote to remove some marker boards. Not move them, not reinstall them at the new place, not even repair the holes in the walls. Just take. Them. Down. Their price? A hundred bucks a pop. That one nearly gave me a nervous breakdown. (Our awesome moving guy, who is awesome, awesomely offered to do it instead and lowered my blood pressure about thirty points.)

The best part of today was when the very last box was packed, the very last piece of paper (that was probably very important until the moment it stood between me and being done with packing) was thrown away, the very last unidentifiable key was put on an overburdened key ring to be dealt with later. I took my belongings and went home to work until the move is over.

The Siamese Kitten is thrilled to have me home. That makes me happy. I'm thrilled to not have to drive to work in the morning. (I'll be making plenty of trips to both the old and new offices. But I'm not making a single appointment to meet with a vendor or contractor that requires me to drive during rush hour.) And I love the fact that I can start at 7:00 a.m. and stop at 7:00 p.m. but only actually do eight or nine hours of actual work.

Because ultimately I'm the hardest-working lazy person you'll ever meet.

Next: People and why I don't want to deal with them when I'm trying to be awesome.

Follow-up: Lizard Edition

In all the hubbub of moving and general life shenanigans, I failed to disclose a piece of sad news to you guys.

Remember Eldon, the Cookie Eating Lizard?

Seen here, eating a cookie.

It grieves me to report that Eldon did not survive the move to the new place.

He met his demise in the freight elevator of my apartment complex. Precocious Daughter was holding him, and he slipped out of her hand and broke into many tiny blue lizard-pieces.

She was devastated.

And for a moment - just a moment - so was I.

And then I realized, maybe Eldon was just a symbol of the parts of my old life that don't belong in my new life. And even if that's a stretch, he was just a thing. A wonderful little thing that I enjoyed for many years but is now shattered beyond repair.

Like my marriage.

When reached for comment, Keanu said, "WHOA."

So Eldon will not find a place of honor in my new home. And that's OK. Because right now I'm wondering if we're ever going to get everything unpacked and put away, and I don't have a lot of time to worry about where to put a fragile cowboy lizard figurine.

As always, it's all about priorities.

RIP, Eldon. Thanks for helping me let go.

Open Letter

Holy shit.

What did you say to our daughter?

You picked her up from her football game and dropped her off here, and she came in uncharacteristically tight-lipped and irritable. She shut herself in her room, and for a while I let her be. But then I got worried and went to see her. And we talked.

Dear God, why would you dump our problems on the head of our 15-year-old daughter?

I know we're broke. You know we're broke. But she should never, ever have to worry about that. She should never feel afraid or unsure of her future or worried about whether we can take care of her.

How dare you put that fear in her.

How dare you make her cry.

Our problems are our problems. They are not her problems. If you haven't cultivated friendships that allow you to vent your frustrations and fears, that's not her fault. DO NOT USE HER AS YOUR SOUNDING BOARD.

Soon - not soon enough, but soon - all of the unpleasantness about splitting up and moving out and selling our home and getting divorced will be behind us. And my entire existence will be devoted to making sure our daughter is happy, and healthy, and psychically OK with what and where she is.

And if you can't keep your goddamn mouth shut and avoid upsetting her when she's with you, then soon enough you'll find that she isn't with you very much at all.

Holy shit.

What did you say to her?

Bumpy

Tonight I told my next-door neighbors on both sides that Saturday is moving day.

They have been awesome neighbors. I hope the guy who is buying my house appreciates them as much as I do.

We stood outside and chatted and watched the (kind of underwhelming, tbh) blood moon rise in the east.

It was lovely.

Tomorrow begins the intensive packing up and moving out that will culminate in transporting beds and pets to the apartment.

If you're hoping to read about other topics for the next several days...you may be disappointed. I'll try to write about politics or monkeys, but honestly my mind is going to be on leaving my home, my husband, my marriage, and my life. Funny how that is.

I'm kind of psyched, but also really terrified. And still not 100% convinced that the house sale won't fall through and leave me destitute. In 10 days I'll know, one way or the other.

Ten days. Pfffft. This has been coming for almost three years. What's 10 days, right?

I don't do prayers, but if you all could maybe spare me some positive thoughts, that would be a nice thing, and I'd be very grateful.

Strap yourselves in. It's going to be a bumpy week.