my office

I try to work from home a couple of time per week to cut down on the cost of train fares and mostly, to avoid typing on my university-issued computer. The keyboard is so grimy that my ‘a’ or ‘space’ keys get constantly stuck – it’s freaking annoying how frequently I have to use these keys – and I often have to ctrl-c-ctrl-v for these symbols. Fortunately, the sticky 'a' and 'space' keys tend to be mutually exclusive events.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I’m the new kid on the block in my office but I seem to have immediately fit in with this group of bitter PhD students - not surprisingly, the definition of disgruntle is universal. At times, the oxymoron, also known as research funds, plays a starring role in our afternoon whinge sessions, getting me all riled up for an evening at home with my husband.

Now there’s one guy - let’s safely call John - in my office. He’s quite a character and can tell a joke with the straightest face in the world. When I started, I had a tough time differentiating fact or fiction from his words.

Let’s back track to 3 days ago.

H: Hey John! I’m going to be bringing a spinach dip to the monthly student seminar.
J: A dip?! How are you going to serve it?
H: I’m going to bring a bowl from home and get a baguette... I promise you, it’ll be lovely. [As I said before, I’m new; people don’t know my culinary abilities yet and I feel that I have to justify my home-brought food.]
J: We need to get individual serving bowls for each person.
H: Why? Just don’t double-dip – do you know what I mean?

I’m never sure if anyone knows what I mean in that office. Sometimes, I feel like it’s a boxing match between me and the other House inhabitants (which is what our office is affectionately known as). They use words like cocktail stick and Marmite (which, by the way, is not as nasty tasting as it sounds) and I feel as if I have to be on the defensive and retaliate with right jab-type words, such as bubble tea, pot luck, and a couple of eh?'s for good measure.

Now let’s fast forward to yesterday.

I’m working hard on my archaic computer (circa 2000), wearing out my Afterglow CD, and indenting my left index finger in an attempt to get the 'a' to show up on the screen. In comes a slightly hung-over and blood-eyed John. He tosses a plastic bag on my desk with a clang.

H: What’s this?
J: As per your request, ten individual serving bowls for your dip, madam.
H: Ummm, these are shot glasses and four of them are broken! Did you steal them last night?
J: [Blank stare]
H: Ewww, there’s still vodka in them!

Another one of the joys of going to school in the UK.