There is a guy measuring the breadth of the glass wall on the left of my cabin. Which means that they would actually keep their promise and add the ‘translucent/opaque markings’ that I had asked for. However, they did not say it in the extreme ghaati manner I did. They said the ‘glass partition’ (not wall) will be covered with ‘frosted film’ (not markings, I know, I said markings, I just did not know what to call those line things) this weekend.’ Now what remains to be seen is whether they cover the whole thing, or the middle portion only. Either way, I will be a happier person.
When I told The Dude about the inconvenience that was the glass wall of my cabin, he just said ‘Atleast you have a cabin!’ with a tone of disbelief of sorts, because how could I have a cabin, when he has to sit with the rest of the crowd on the floor, right? Wrong. Because you can’t have it all. This is my compensation for the fancy-schmancy title he has, versus mine, which has been the same for the last 6 years and 3 organizations. It is such a part of my life, that I am actually contemplating getting it mentioned on my tombstone.
Anyway, this was about how the ‘Atleast you have a cabin!’ is not justified. A cabin, as I have come to realize, is not all coolness and glory. For starters, it is eerily quiet, the sound of my typing being almost cacophonous. The only sound that breaks this silence (when I am not typing) is the very strange sound of flowing water, like there are pipes above my head, which I am assuming there are. Through the AC ducts? That is a thing right? I told The Dude and he was like ‘Oh God! Don’t tell me you have pipe music! This might be one of those relaxing, soothing sounds of nature or something to de-stress!’ I actually believed him for a moment and gave it a listen again, but I think the theory is flawed because the sound of a leaking flush can be all but a stress buster.
Point number two, the cabin has two, yes two, glass walls. Plain, clean, Saint-Gobain-advertisement-worthy glass. The one in front is fine, I have an amazing view (not) of the floor. But it is helpful because I know who is knocking, I can raise my head and check if the Boss is at her desk before I walk all the way there, and I can also check if the team is around. But the one to the left, it makes no sense. It has a narrow walkway, connecting two floors, and then another conference room, with equally spotless glass walls. So whenever there is a meeting there, I have to be extremely careful about not making any sudden movements lest I startle the folks who are on the verge of falling asleep anyway. Plus, I have to really hide all the chocolate/almonds/fruits I eat because I do not want the world to think of me as the girl-who-eats-the-whole-day. And I have to keep my desk drawers closed at all times because I realized that the passers-by could actually read off the printouts while casually passing by and I don’t want them to know my very confidential movie plans.
Also, I miss out on the fun. It is not all that quiet inside, but I can just about make out people’s laughter, and that too when they are in this gregarious loud mood. And by the time I am out to see what it is about, it’s all over. Or perhaps it is over because I am out but I hate to think of it that way.
Which brings me to the next point. A cabin is a lonely place. And not only literally. It is a serious place, and it means business. People call you ma’am. People attend to your requests faster. People mind how they talk to you. People think twice before calling you for a break, because you would have to be busy. You think twice before going on breaks with people because you feel like you might be a kabab-me-haddi.
But it would be wrong to say that it never feels good. Because it feels nice to have a set of keys to your ‘room’ at work. It feels awesome to see your name plate on the door of that room. To have your privacy, and quiet time, when work needs to be done. To have conversations on the phone without worrying about who is hearing you. To be able to set the temperature of the room to your comfort .To get things done faster because when you tell your seat number. To feel that you have actually moved ahead professionally, because ‘Come on! You have a cabin!’ So I suck it up, and sit in my cosy little, temperature controlled space, which will hopefully have a ‘Frosted film on the Glass Partition’ when I return next week, and enjoy what I have for now.
Afterall, you really can’t have it all.