I thought I was choosing wisely when I put my desk in front of a window in the family room when we moved here.

It’s usually a sunny spot until mid-afternoon, which helps wake me up on the days when I forget that I’ve turned into a morning person. It’s a mere 12 paces from the coffee pot, and if I make a pit stop halfway I’m at the fridge. A short detour to the right lands me in front of the cabinet where I hide the good chocolate from the guys.

If I had it to do over again, though, I’d be hiding in the closet. At least I think it’s a closet. It’s a 5-foot-by-4-foot roomlet at the top of the stairs. I know some folks who use it for a “play room,” which makes me wonder if their kids are way more annoying than mine. I’ve always threatened to put mine in the closet, though I’ve never actually done it.

The closet/roomlet is dark, windowless and 13 steps plus 20 paces from the coffee. But it does have a door. A door that can be closed when I’m not working. And it does have a built-in book case where I could neatly stack the files that won’t fit into the dented cabinet that never is going to get replaced because they guys always need something.

I’m thinking that system would work much better than my current method of keeping their hands off my stuff, which involves barking “keep away from my desk!” several times an evening, in ever-increasing volume as the evening wears on and I’m worn out from barking.

When I’m not barking “keep away from my desk,” I’m screeching “get out of that chair!” as they spin and roll my spinning-rolling desk model around the family room. Thousands of dollars of computer, printer, speakers, cameras and more are going to come crashing to the ground one of these days, and the explosion from me will rival anything Dad ran into if Afghanistan.

I chuckle to myself as I imagine the ergonomics expert at my last office job reviewing the setup. Type with your feet on the floor? There are too many office supplies under the desk for my feet to even find the floor.

And I downright cackled recently when I read an article about the American office cubicle shrinking, along with the workforce, from 72-square feet to 48. Forty-right square feet is luxurious by my standards.

Not that I had a regulation cubicle at my last regulation office, but at least there I was the only one losing my notes and no one was whining for juice and cookies on work days when school is closed.

Copyright 2011 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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