My Office Corridor

You will not be at all surprised to learn i have a day job. It takes place in a nondescript housing estate, inside a basic one storey sprawl of a building. The office itself has a number of small meeting rooms, with windows and blinds, to let you know that is where the weighty decisions are made. There is a staff eating area, and a reception and a range toilets catering to the various genders and abilities of the day. None of that is relevant to today   Beyond that, there is an open plan office. The first half is for the designers and bid writers. The second half, tucked around the corner, where i sit down and wait to be paid. And to get to that place, one must walk down a corridor. It’s an open plan corridor , carpeted just like the rest of the office. It has grey green mute death metal cabinets with mysterious items inside, and loose leaf files scattered over their top. Occasionally the cabinets are festooned with donuts, or sweets. There are gaps between the cab8nets which is the openings t9 the eight or so side shoots and between one and six people work within the shoots its not a big office, in the modern sense, but it is certainly not small. The corridor is wide enough for two people to stand around chatting, whilst another one can move around them holding multiple hot beverages with only minimal spillages. The corridor has seen a lot of dripping coffee and tea.   It is important to me you have a visual about this corridor because it is the base for many of my day dream fantasies.    I pretend my fingers are legs and run along the cabinets, jumping over gaps and sliding around corners, i even make noises, under my breath, and averting my face from potential eye contact. In my head i sometimes see mini Spiderman swinging from ceiling partition tile to ceiling partition tile. Or it could be mini Wolverine and mini Nightcrawler runn8ng along, teleporting and slicing their way through the A4 flotsam and jetsam.   But it doesn't stop there. I envision myself breaking into Broadway songs, slowly moving down the corridor through pronounced movement, broken up by standing in power poses and waving my hands like the male lead i never was, catch8ng a cane and sparkly hat that was thrown from the side corridors, probably from the Procurement team, they know how to get vital cosplay at short notice. I imagine it culminating in me crouching low to the ground, hands hanging as my fingers snap in homage to the Jets, who are now probably no longer Jets, because that was in the 60s, and they’re dead. I imagine jumping as high as possible , and stomping as hard as i can. I imagine screaming and laugh8ng, i imagine doing a tight five minute set. All in that corridor.  Someday, i will leave this company and i will regret not using twin roman candles to fire from each hand as i strut down that corridor before half turning back and giving a grin and letting a trademark twinkle shine from my eye. I’d like to think if i froze in that position, the office would freeze for a moment and a 80s theme tune piano lick would play, before office life continued around my frozen body, my face in a rictus of fake smiling. My office corridor