When I started my job, I was insanely stoked that I had my own office. I had my very own huge desk, matching cradenza, little conference table with two chairs (holla'!), four-drawer file cabinet, massive bookshelf and the winner: my very own bathroom. I had moved on up, for sure . . . until about four months later when my boss hired another writer and put her in a corner of my office. Instant downer . . . at first. Turns out I like her a whole, whole bunch. She's quick as a whip and has the driest sense of humor, which is refreshing. We instantly became work allies. (I'll spare everyone the work hoopla deets. Let's just say there's a lot going on here that's gotten everyone's nerves jacked up into high gear). And because our office is so close to our boss' (and her protege's) and we don't want them to hear anything we say, we've become quite accostumed to IMing back and forth . . . even though there's only about three feet between our desks. No joke.
While our Close Proximity IMs are usually work-related (making it totally legit, right?), they've gotten more and more out of control in the last few months because many (OK, most) aren't work-related anymore. We've gotten downright lazy about opening our mouths and talking. Today's CPIs even paid homage to Michael Jackson (R.I.P. King of Pop). As my officemate waited patiently for a superior to send her his resume, here's what she IMed:
her: Do you remember the time...when you said you'd give me your resume?
me: you must do it.
I'm pretty sure we're not the only ones who do this . . . right? RIGHT?!