Drone

I work at a little desk. It is a very little desk indeed.

So much so that if I sneeze, my neighbour's neighbour will know. In fact if my neighbour's neighbour's desk were a country (it would be a very little country indeed) then the sexy weather girl on TV would predict "a strong gust of wind, accompanied by mild showers".

So much so that that if I poke my finger into my ear to clear out wax/mosquitoes/bad vibes, my elbow is dangerously close to the ear of the fellows I sit next to, which are also presumably full of wax/mosquitoes/bad vibes.

So much so that if I burp (this is merely for illustrative purposes, I have never in fact burped) the person who sits in front of me will know the exact composition of my meal. Or meals for that matter… Depending on the potency of the food in question, the extent of indigestion and the magnitude of my shamelessness.

So much so that if I yawn… Everyone yawns.
But then we all yawn, all the time. By the time one yawn ends another begins so its hard to pin point which one in particular set the ball rolling. In the interim between one yawn and the next we complain about yawning, have a lengthy discourse on yawning and miraculously even manage to get some work done. It is a beautiful community experience.

So much so that it is impossible for the boys who sit next to me to check out porn. Of course the virtually impenetrable "web-washer" the fine folk down at IT have installed would never allow for such depraved activities to be carried out. But hypothetically, if viewing pornography were an option, my female-ly presence would rule it out completely.

We have our pockets of gossip, us small people. We buzz, giggle, frown, dissect, digress… Did you ever think one could do so much with tiny, seemingly insignificant stories?

We sit dangerously close to the corridors of power. At times we infiltrate them only to discover that they reek of indecision.

We sit all day at our desks, making dispassionate love to our computers. Occasionally we go for walks, sandwiches, chai, fruit chaat, conversation. And on these all too rare occasions we congratulate ourselves for having taken a break.

I feel I am the littlest of all the little people. Warm and snug in my swivel chair. Hiding behind my monitor. Brilliantly anonymous. At times I chide myself for what is a clear lack of ambition in life. A blot on the otherwise aspirational middle class landscape. On others I congratulate myself for getting paid generously to do something a not altogether dumb 16 year old can. I've pulled a fast one on the establishment. I rake in the dough and am not required to check my sarcasm at the door.

“What the banker sighs for, the meanest clown may have: leisure and a quiet mind.”- Henry David Thoreau

The floor hums. With sighs, yawns, burps, gossip.