We Love the City

The monologue is my preferred method of discourse.

Beer Is Good; Moving Is Bad

Long, long, long week.

We moved offices last Friday. This is stressful enough: Having to pack up an entire office, particularly when you only have two full-time employees, but everything went reasonably well: Everything was packed up and ready to go when the movers showed up. Yay for us.

But the wrinkle is that our new office was being renovated. And the renovations were behind schedule. While the movers had no problem collecting our stuff at the old office, they weren’t able to put things where they were supposed to be at the new office on account of all the drywalling and painting still going on. The wiring wasn’t complete, so our phone system couldn’t be intalled. This was okay, since it meant I could go home early.

On Monday, things were not much improve’d. More painting and drywalling to do, though the wiring was complete – they could set up our phones, if not the computer network. Mr. Publisher showed up for an hour for a meeting. I drank orange juice. Marketing Lass and I (Production Lad?) went shopping at Ikea for new furniture. Bought desks and a chair. Went home early.

Tuesday saw marked improvements. Most of the renovations were complete, so we set about unpacking. That is to say, we made preparations to unpack, which involved transferring various boxes and items of furniture from one room to another. It was like some bizarre logic puzzle involving two sheep, a velociraptor, and a small canoe. Much lifting involved. Too many books. Before lunch, I had realized I hated books. This may prove problematic if I am to continue a career in publishing.

On Wednesday, the network was working. Our internet was not. There was much gnashing of teeth. We unpacked the library and set all the accursed books in their proper place. Got as far as “R” before we realized we had missed a box containing a large portion of the letter “C”. There was considerably more gnashing of teeth, followed by mad hysterics of those whose brains have just snapped, which in turn was followed by considerable profanity. And then more laughter, profanity, and eventual re-organization of the bookshelf. Possibly even in that order.

I don’t even remember what happened on Thursday. Internet started working around 3, which meant we all had to read through nearly a week’s worth of email and attempt to respond to it in some sort of timely and organized fashion. I failed.

On Friday, I got some work done. And I assembled a new chair.

Then I went home, made fajitas and drank beer.

There will be a prize for the loyal reader who correctly guesses my favourite portion of the week.

No, it’s not a real prize. Something like “respect” or “love” or “lustful thoughts of Scarlett Johannson.”