My Corporate Summer: Cleaning up a flood in bare feet while on Facebook

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There comes a point in every day when inputting data and sending emails is no longer enough to get me to my 5 p.m. release from the office. When I hit the ‘input wall,’ I turn to Facebook for my mid-afternoon second wind. A few solid minutes of cyber stalking and wall creeping is usually enough to fight off my impending carpal tunnel and revitalize me for my return to inputting.

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"Despite the Niagara Falls-like spillage that was pouring over the side of my desk, my boss decided that this was a good time to discuss my duties for the company golf tournament."

One day last week, I found myself fighting the urge to throw my keyboard out the window, so I went on Facebook to get me through the day. I had just signed into my account when my ears perked up to the familiar sound of my boss’ shoes walking down the hall toward my office. I forgot I had told him to stop by my office to pick up a misaddressed package I received. My heart suddenly quickened and threatened to explode from my rib cage.

Before I could close the evidence of my mid-afternoon slacking, my boss’ face popped up above my cubicle wall.

I panicked. In an effort to distract him from my computer screen, I thrust my arm out to hand him the package. Unfortunately, nerves make me clumsier than a spider on roller skates. On my way to the package, my arm hit a full glass of water, spilling its contents across my desk.

My boss frantically grabbed the package as I jumped up and scurried to the office kitchen to grab paper towel. However, I forgot I had taken my sandals off underneath my desk so I was sprinting around the office barefoot. Despite the Niagara Falls-like spillage that was pouring over the side of my desk, my boss decided that this was a good time to discuss my duties for the company golf tournament. I nodded along as I dashed back and forth from the kitchen to my cubicle in my nuddy feet.

Apparently, this frenzy was not quite hectic enough so on my second return to my cubicle, my mother called. I quickly picked up the phone, fed her a one-line rejection and slammed down the receiver. After a visit that rivaled most Jim Carrey movies, my boss finally left.

I was left surrounded by soaked files, soppy paper towels and the flashing light on my phone indicating that my mom was on line one. I sank down into my chair and waited for my heart rate to return to a normal pace so I could happily return to the monotony of inputting.

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About the author

Ishani Nath is a proud McMaster alum, aspiring writer and current journalism grad student at Ryerson University. When she's not hammering out articles, she can usually be found on a patio or nestled on a couch trying to keep up with those crazy Kardashians. She hopes to one day have a job that makes her excited to get up each morning, or at least one that gives her free food. Intrigued? Enthralled? Learn more by following her on @ishaninath.