Everyone who has a speakerphone apparently understands not to use them in an open office. People who need to talk hands-free all have headsets.
Some of the womenfolk have fluffy toys on top of their monitors.
One bloke came in on Monday and accused one of the new people of stealing his chair. “Not so!” they said, it came from one of the meeting rooms. He claimed it back, and was then seen Liquid Papering his name to the back of it.
I haven’t seen anybody feed the fish yet, though someone must. Knowing my record of fishicide, I’m not going near them.
It’s as well to beware in the toilet. At least one of them flushes with such ferocity that you’re likely to get water splashed on your shoes if you don’t stand back.
The hot water boiler in the kitchen makes gurgling noises after using it.
One woman has a tiny tiny office which is almost smaller than my allotted space between the partitions. And no window. She must get claustrophobic if she ever has to close the door.
In my group of four desks are two spares, me and a mysterious stranger who hasn’t shown up for the last three days, and so I am yet to meet.