Sitka or Bust: Commute The World

I am writing tonight to tell you all about the loss of a dear friend. We’ve been together for as long as I can remember, through the good times and the bad, and now I just feel lopsided.

After a week in my new job, my left butt cheek has been viciously slain by an office chair.  They’re deceptive; those cushiony black rolly chairs, they appear comforting and luxurious in whatever plush textile they are skinned from, but underneath they are the sharp protrusions of the office world.  When we chose them, or were assigned them, that very first day I thought to myself, this might be the start of a beautiful work relationship. I was wrong.

Not only did my first chair deceive me into thinking it had all its wheels until a very inopportune moment of flailing, but the second refuses to adjust seat heights. Of course, by the time I realized this, the pickings were extremely slim. Chair number two: The Widower. My feet cannot touch the floor which isn’t bad enough, but the seat itself is too long for my tiny little legs so my knees get trapped into locking out straight. Swiveling is fun though, because I must be constantly aware of sideswiping a passerby with my outstretched feetsies.

In a previous entry, I already mentioned that my chair is stuck in a reclined “lounging position,” and as much as that first day I noticed that distinctive feature and thought to myself, Self, I think this will force me into an upright and healthy back posture, it has yet to happen more often than I must get closer to the phone to politely yell at hard of hearing customers. I am extremely close to blowing the dust off my own yoga ball, rolling it in, and parking my derriere on that sucker for eight hours a day. Granted, I would not look much like the lady to the left, she’s much too professional in her sweats and tank top.

I don’t know how my cheek died, or even for sure when it happened. I only know that leaving my desk felt like I had impaled that single cheek on a sharp object, a pencil perhaps, or a series of extremely large staples. When I got home I even checked the hem of my underwear in case I’d find a toothpick it there like that one instance  in high school. Really, this type of thing happens to me.

All to no avail though. My drawers were clean of any pointed objects or office shrapnel. I hope I didn’t pull a cheek muscle when I was doing my boredom butt-flexes. So to recap the body difficulties I’ve had a week into my stationary office job: suspicion of a cauliflower ear, one dead butt cheek, two computer eyes, and a lone distended bladder. Viva the office life.