We're renovating our offices at work, which ends up meaning we're losing our conference room in favor of two more offices and also we had to work side-by-side with the guys who come in and blow out walls and drywall and paint. And by side-by-side, I mean to say that the fuckers had me pull my furniture from the walls so they could paint 5 feet from me as I attempted to work. So you can see, it's not my fault at all that I spent a good part of the last 10 days of work gossiping with co-workers, Facebooking, and staring into space. It was the paint fumes, I tell ya.
In the process of losing our conference room, we have had to get creative about having lunch together because in an office like ours we all tend to lunch at the same time. We had been gathering around a very small round table for over a week, until the painters were done and we could move the conference table off into a better spot so we could all eat around it again. Which lasted exactly one day, because on the very day we brilliantly realized the table could be moved to acommodate us, we got an email that someone had seen it on Craigslist and wanted to buy it, with cash, that afternoon.
We were eating lunch, musing over what the table would be used for. Probably someone with a business, was the consensus. The table would be moved from our old conference room into theirs. Looking at the table more closely now that it was about to be taken, I said out loud, "I wish I had a dining room. I'd take this table, refinish it, and put it with some interesting thrift store chairs. It would make an awesome dining room table in the right space." The collective group of my co-workers gave me the side eye, so I shrugged and went back to my salad.
Fast forward to that afternoon, and into the office stroll two guys who look to be early to mid twenties. I show them the table, they give me the cash, and I offer them some tools to help disassemble it. I wander back to my office, and on the way there learn that a few of the single girls I work with think one of the boys is cute. There's some discussion about how to flirt with him vs whether he might be married, and I say something about him looking too young to be married. The youngins in the office roll their eyes and inform me he's not young - - - after all, he must be at least 26! The HORRORS! Get that man a Medicaid application stat!!
A little later, one of my co-workers brings the guys back to her office, where they also haul away (gratis) two metal shelving units. She asks them, upon their interest in said very industrial, heavy, and seemingly useless things, whether they might be furnishing a new office.
"No," replies quasi-attractive maybe-26 year old. "I just bought a house, and I thought I'd refinish the conference table and put it in my dining room."
This is where I point out that the 26 year old (tops...I vote closer to 24) had the same grand plan for that table as I. Which means, for anyone too daft to pick up what I'm puttin' down, I am hip. Just when I was feeling old and frumpy and boring, turns out I Still Got It.