The amazing variety of offices I have toiled in for forty years tells a story not unlike the Stations of the Cross.
Out of the university, I joined a tire company as a management intern and for months shared grimy tables and grimier chairs with the shop foreman in assorted production departments. I felt like Grand Panjandrum when, after a year, I had a clean table of my own in the central office.
I sat among an army of clerks in a hall for another year, till the Personnel Director took a fancy to my work and moved me overnight to a corner of his cavernous office, to work on a special project for him. Months later, he decided to keep me on as his assistant, and, to everyone’s surprise and the dismay of my peers, I had suddenly ‘arrived’ – in an office of my own.
A few years later, I joined another company as the chief of a division, and was rewarded with, not just an absurdly large office but also a private restroom. Three years later, the ownership changed, and the new chairman wanted me to fire all the old guard, despite their contracts. When, purely by chance, he did not get sued, he moved me to an even larger office, with a view of the park.
Things changed dramatically when I joined the diplomatic corps. I had imagined attending cocktail parties in white ties and tails. Instead I was sent to Haiti to track human rights violations and provide asylum to refugees. My virtual office became ramshackle churches and dilapidated hovels where hunted people hid, the only respite being my alternative office on coast guard cutters that retrieved fleeing refugees from sinking boats. I next went to Nepal, where for days my office was 9000 feet in the Himalayas, trying to find American hikers and mountaineers who had survived an avalanche.
Meanwhile, the digital revolution had come and stayed. When I joined Big Blue, they gave me a laptop and in effect told me to forget about an office, unless a client wanted me to sit in their office. I loved the new freedom and wanted to make it complete: in two years, I gave up the job and became a consultant.
I now have a client whose office is in the Washington Marina, in sixteen boats. I write this as I sit in a beautiful, gently undulating boat, sip my coffee and look out the porthole at the ducks in the rippling water and birds in the cloudless sky – who have never aspired to an office.
Out of the university, I joined a tire company as a management intern and for months shared grimy tables and grimier chairs with the shop foreman in assorted production departments. I felt like Grand Panjandrum when, after a year, I had a clean table of my own in the central office.
I sat among an army of clerks in a hall for another year, till the Personnel Director took a fancy to my work and moved me overnight to a corner of his cavernous office, to work on a special project for him. Months later, he decided to keep me on as his assistant, and, to everyone’s surprise and the dismay of my peers, I had suddenly ‘arrived’ – in an office of my own.
A few years later, I joined another company as the chief of a division, and was rewarded with, not just an absurdly large office but also a private restroom. Three years later, the ownership changed, and the new chairman wanted me to fire all the old guard, despite their contracts. When, purely by chance, he did not get sued, he moved me to an even larger office, with a view of the park.
Things changed dramatically when I joined the diplomatic corps. I had imagined attending cocktail parties in white ties and tails. Instead I was sent to Haiti to track human rights violations and provide asylum to refugees. My virtual office became ramshackle churches and dilapidated hovels where hunted people hid, the only respite being my alternative office on coast guard cutters that retrieved fleeing refugees from sinking boats. I next went to Nepal, where for days my office was 9000 feet in the Himalayas, trying to find American hikers and mountaineers who had survived an avalanche.
Meanwhile, the digital revolution had come and stayed. When I joined Big Blue, they gave me a laptop and in effect told me to forget about an office, unless a client wanted me to sit in their office. I loved the new freedom and wanted to make it complete: in two years, I gave up the job and became a consultant.
I now have a client whose office is in the Washington Marina, in sixteen boats. I write this as I sit in a beautiful, gently undulating boat, sip my coffee and look out the porthole at the ducks in the rippling water and birds in the cloudless sky – who have never aspired to an office.
Leaving university, I joined a European company as an intern and started work as an assistant to the Purchase Officer. I sent out tenders, compared bids and prepared the papers for my boss to sign the orders. Often I would meet with the suppliers’ representatives to clarify a specification, emphasize a technical requirement or negotiate the order quantity.
These representatives came not just with their company literature, but with small gifts, tickets to sporting events and invitations to dinners. I refused them all, for my boss, Earl, had told me that that was the company policy. Earl was a pleasant person, always courteous and genial, but he had emphasized that I had to be like Caesar’s wife, above all suspicion of partiality or wrongdoing. Of course, there were rumors of shenanigans by some, and other assistants would often smirk at my refusal to socialize with vendors, but I felt good.
Joe, the sales chief of a big chemical company, came to see me one morning to discuss the large contract for the next six months. He said he knew the situation was competitive and he had come to find out where his company stood. I told him that the deadline was still two days off, and I couldn’t discuss the bids, especially as one last bid from a competitor hadn’t yet come in. Joe then explained that he was in a very vulnerable situation, for he had to close immediately on a large deal for an expensive ingredient that went into the production of the chemical he sold us. He would have a terrible loss if he made the commitment and then found he did not get the order.
Reluctantly, I told him then that his company simply didn’t have a chance to win the order because its bid was distinctly higher than the other two bids we had received. Joe then left, but, somewhat curiously, he didn’t seem crestfallen. Two days later, after I had received the last bid, I made a comparative report to my boss, Earl, recommending another supplier, and considered the matter closed.
Three weeks later, I sat with friends in a hotel bar when a waiter opened the door of a private room behind the bar and went in with a food tray. I had a moment’s glimpse of Earl and Joe toasting each other with raised wine glasses. I thought there was something wrong with that picture. Early the next day I requested our secretary for the files. My comparative report was missing; instead I saw a new and lower bid by Joe, and a large order in favor of his company.
These representatives came not just with their company literature, but with small gifts, tickets to sporting events and invitations to dinners. I refused them all, for my boss, Earl, had told me that that was the company policy. Earl was a pleasant person, always courteous and genial, but he had emphasized that I had to be like Caesar’s wife, above all suspicion of partiality or wrongdoing. Of course, there were rumors of shenanigans by some, and other assistants would often smirk at my refusal to socialize with vendors, but I felt good.
Joe, the sales chief of a big chemical company, came to see me one morning to discuss the large contract for the next six months. He said he knew the situation was competitive and he had come to find out where his company stood. I told him that the deadline was still two days off, and I couldn’t discuss the bids, especially as one last bid from a competitor hadn’t yet come in. Joe then explained that he was in a very vulnerable situation, for he had to close immediately on a large deal for an expensive ingredient that went into the production of the chemical he sold us. He would have a terrible loss if he made the commitment and then found he did not get the order.
Reluctantly, I told him then that his company simply didn’t have a chance to win the order because its bid was distinctly higher than the other two bids we had received. Joe then left, but, somewhat curiously, he didn’t seem crestfallen. Two days later, after I had received the last bid, I made a comparative report to my boss, Earl, recommending another supplier, and considered the matter closed.
Three weeks later, I sat with friends in a hotel bar when a waiter opened the door of a private room behind the bar and went in with a food tray. I had a moment’s glimpse of Earl and Joe toasting each other with raised wine glasses. I thought there was something wrong with that picture. Early the next day I requested our secretary for the files. My comparative report was missing; instead I saw a new and lower bid by Joe, and a large order in favor of his company.
The day I arrived in Manila, I was driving out of the garage when the maid said, “But, sir, it is raining!” I didn’t quite understand her, so I simply made a reassuring gesture and drove on. Then, in a minute, I understood. In the Philippine archipelago rain usually came down like a blinding curtain of water. I felt like a helpless creature of the elements. Sheepishly, I turned into a side street and waited patiently for the rain to stop.
It was the reverse in Abu Dhabi. In two years it never rained, except two days before I was to leave. It was the lightest of drizzles and lasted a half hour, but people rushed out into the streets and almost danced with joy. Friends called enthusiastically to share their experience of a remarkable phenomenon, and the next day it was a headline in the local newspaper.
In Konstanz, my favorite town in Germany, it rained unseasonably in the fall as I returned from a concert in the university. It suddenly turned chilly, I lost my way on the unfamiliar road, ended up in a warm and friendly speakeasy, and practically spent the night drinking and sharing stories with new found friends.
It rained in Hong Kong as I got out of the Kowloon ferry and ran for cover. I stood transfixed as cataracts of water threw a mysterious haze over the waterfront, prosaic streets turned magically mysterious, and a street urchin materialized out of nowhere, to fetch me a steaming cup of coffee for triple its usual price,
But the rainy day I cannot forget was in Kolkata, India. It had started as a warm, sunny day and I had walked back home from college with a coed, sipped tea together and then walked over to the terrace to show her the colorful festival kites floating in the afternoon sky. I held her hand, and when suddenly, without a warning, rain started pouring down, it seemed the most natural thing to take her face in my hands and kiss her. It was my first kiss.
ooo
It was the reverse in Abu Dhabi. In two years it never rained, except two days before I was to leave. It was the lightest of drizzles and lasted a half hour, but people rushed out into the streets and almost danced with joy. Friends called enthusiastically to share their experience of a remarkable phenomenon, and the next day it was a headline in the local newspaper.
In Konstanz, my favorite town in Germany, it rained unseasonably in the fall as I returned from a concert in the university. It suddenly turned chilly, I lost my way on the unfamiliar road, ended up in a warm and friendly speakeasy, and practically spent the night drinking and sharing stories with new found friends.
It rained in Hong Kong as I got out of the Kowloon ferry and ran for cover. I stood transfixed as cataracts of water threw a mysterious haze over the waterfront, prosaic streets turned magically mysterious, and a street urchin materialized out of nowhere, to fetch me a steaming cup of coffee for triple its usual price,
But the rainy day I cannot forget was in Kolkata, India. It had started as a warm, sunny day and I had walked back home from college with a coed, sipped tea together and then walked over to the terrace to show her the colorful festival kites floating in the afternoon sky. I held her hand, and when suddenly, without a warning, rain started pouring down, it seemed the most natural thing to take her face in my hands and kiss her. It was my first kiss.
ooo