Workplace politics are really annoying.
Like really annoying.
And nothing is more annoying than these territorial battles that exist – especially in education; like you have time to think about where people are supposed to go in the office, but remain out of compliance.
Anyway…
I guess I pissed off the wrong person – probably my ADHD – and that resulted in my desk being moved; actually more, my desk being disassembled, as though you have to make the message crystal clear that you’re not wanted here.
And worse, I wasn’t told until I came in over the summer, dropped my bag where my desk was, and broke my computer in the fall, like those experiments where you throw the egg wrapped in a shoebox off the roof.
“What the hell?!” I declared, loudly and proudly.
“Oh, T.S. We moved your desk,” said Ms. Pezzanovante (that’s Italian for big shot!)
“Moved?! I’ve been here for four years,” I said annoyed. (I should clarify here that Ms. Pezzanovante is the same HR code as myself)
“Sorry. A filing cabinet needs a home,” she responded, “And it’s home is where you were…but we have a room for you.”
And there it was shown to me my new office.
Filing cabinets that jutted out.
Bright oppressive lights.
Cabinets instead of drawers.
“Back to where you started,” Ms. Pezzanovante said, “Move your stuff out of the old desk, it’s going to the new guy.”
“Eight years means nothing here,” I thought.
Some would have been happy with the new arrangement, except for the fact that I had a roommate; and having a roommate made the room feel less like a dorm room, less a prison cell, and more like a coffin – an 8×9 coffin, white cinder blocked 12 foot long length.
“I didn’t realize that I was being buried,” I sarcastically said.
“What did you say?” she responded.
“If I wanted to be buried, I’d prefer it to be at sea, or under a stadium, or in the ground…but here, no thank you,” I said.
The look on her face was full of contempt. “You should be grateful,” she responded.
“Grateful that new people took my space?” I retorted.
“Grateful you have a home with us!” she snidely said.
The battle lines could not be made any clearer. My mind quickly went to a historical example: Gaius Popillius Laenas. As the story goes, the Seleucid Empire was expanding beyond Rome’s liking, and on the road Gaius Popillius Laenas informed the Seleucid king, Antiochus IV, that he must stop. Antiochus IV informed the Roman “I must discuss this with my advisors” to which Popillius drew a circle in the sand saying “You can decide here in this circle”
Literally the birth of “drawing the line in the sand.”
Ms. Pezzanovante was clear “This is how it’s going to go, Antiochus”
And so the war between them and me was set.
And much like with the students, I was going to refuse to let her and her counterparts win.
Stage 1: Simply sit at the conference room desk, and work from there (the petty response)
“This is my room! My space!” a new person chastised.
“This was my space!”
“Yes, it was your space!” she said, full of entitlement.
Stage 2: Occupy the department couch (the pest response)
“Don’t you have an office!” retorted an ally of Pezzanovante
“I do. I’m a vampire – a ghost – haunting the halls. I died on this couch. Boo!” I said.
(That joke did not take to well, and my presence was clearly not wanted).
And then, Stage 3: Move.
Don’t give the satisfaction.
Don’t give them the win.
The new room has a window.
A desk.
None of the people I have to deal with.
A space of heaven.
(And a secret…known only to two people).
(A nice, small fake leather futon.)
(A prize, a couch that Ms. Pezzanovante requested but doesn’t know exists)
That is my victory.
And they can lock themselves in their own sarcophagus if they have a problem.
