Moving out

I’ve been used to the peaceful second floor office our newspaper occupied for the past nine months, comfortable in having my own key so that I could come in anytime I feel like it, even in the middle of the night.

I shared the office with four other officemates but all of us has complete freedom with whatever we want to do without thinking somebody will walk in anytime and peek at what windows we are opening in our laptops. (including playing Zuma and other computer games when I get bored). Then one day our boss announced that we will be moving to a bigger office right in the center of Koror, and with it my spirits fell.

Before we knew it, here we were in our new office, a couple of miles from our from the former one. Its a huge cream-colored, two-storey building that can be classified as one of the most modern buildings in the island.
The office is huge, with a spacious parking ground (nah, I miss the old parking). The building spells “prestige”, with the boss’ office boasting of a huge bathroom complete with glass-covered shower room, huge wall to wall glass windows overlooking the parking area (meaning we’ve lost the freedom to come and go at our own convenient time).

Expecting a newsroom with sofa (place to stretch for a nap when you get mental block), table, a television, and a conference room where we could entertain visitors (and complainants, too), I was disappointed to find that we were assigned individual cubicles but with gaping doors anybody can just poke his head in.
My cubicle is at the second floor by the window but the sad thing is we were sandwiched between the computer technicians and the marketing staff.

Moving meant many things for me: the end to our privacy to work, the end of comfortable telephone interviews, the end to chats between the five of us, the beginning of headache as each one tries to outdo each other in the raising the volume of music (which is more like noise).
Worse yet, we have to pass by the main door, giving the boss a good full view of us passing by his office. One option is to pass by the company’s computer store to go up right by the table of our boss’ wife (our editor in chief), and before reaching my cubicle, I have to pass by the manager’s table.
Add the noise of hammers and all noise the carpenters are making with the finishing touches inside the office.

It’s irritating to know that when I stagger drowsily at the office at 11 a.m., eyebrows are raised (guess we still have to educate them that reporters are not 8 to 5 employees but we operate on our own time schedule).

When I stare out the window all I can see is the long stretch of cars below, rooftops with steel bars jutting out menacingly or electric posts with crisscrossing wires. I miss the sea view from all our windows back at the old office.
Oh sure, it feels nice to be going to a nice office but there are hitches to the changes which we have to adjust to. Life has to move on but I still miss our old office.

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