office

My mind was not that of a conqueror, but that of a cow that spends its life chewing contentedly in the meadow of invoices, waiting for the train of eternal grace to pass by. How good it felt to exist without pride of ambition. To live in hibernation.

The theatre is a place where one has time for the problems of people to whom one would show the door if they came to one's office for a job.

Ask one question: Would a Millennial (anyone born between 1980 and 2000) look forward to working here?Try this exercise. Take a group of people into a large, open room with tackable wall surfaces or whiteboards. Give them large sheets of paper, sticky notes, markers, and tape. Ask them to create a concept for a work environment (don't say __ffice_) using the following words: high-energy, collaborative, healthy, productive, engaging, innovative, interactive, high-tech, and regenerating.

In a democracy, someone who fails to get elected to office can always console himself with the thought that there was something not quite fair about it.

The office_ is a cemetery of dreams.

Although he too was heading to work, Shahid was glad he wasn't dragging himself off to some office job. Shahid's view: anybody who had to wear a suit to work died a little inside, every day.

... In a ROWE* people don't have schedules.They show up when they want.They don't have to be in the office at certain time, or anytime.They just have to get their work done.How they do it ?When they do it ?Where they do it ?It's totally up to them.Meetings & this kind of environments are Optional.What happens ... ?Almost across the board !- Productivity goes up- Worker Engagement goes up- Worker Satisfaction goes up- Turnovers goes down- Autonomy .. Mastery .. Purpose -these are the building blocks of new way of doing things."______________________________________________________________*ROWE: results-only work environment

Self-employed people work where they live. Entrepreneurs live where they work.

The garden is an unemployed township-based man's cubicle.

You can tell if a person is organized by checking his desktop.

As I write this entry, I touch a saber-tooth tiger skull in my office. Without stars there could be no skulls

Putting your time in at the office; dutifully spawning your two point five; smiling politely at your retirement party; then chewing on your bedsheet and choking on your canned peaches at the nursing home. It was better never to have been born-never to have wanted anything, never to have hoped for anything.

It did occur to him that perhaps he__ gone to the wrong Academy _ the guys in the Space Fleet always had more interesting stories to tell at the spaceport bars. You know, tales about the dude who got vaporized in a plasma accident in the engineering section, or the fella who got turned into a blob of weird space jelly by some alien virus _ or the time someone flew a starship into an astor-field at warp four by mistake (they were still trying to find the black box on that one). The Imperial Space Fleet__ recruiting office sure didn__ go around advertising __oin up, see the universe, meet interesting aliens and die screaming_, but it was known there were risks involved. It was part of the job after all, and yet somehow, they still got recruits signing up in droves. Yes, indeedy _ the stories were far more interesting than his _ took a load of ore to Gorda, took a load of mining equipment back to Tordrazil. Took a load of Florpavian Flame-birds to a zoo on Deanna, took a load of machinery to Salus. Picked up and dropped off a few passengers on the way. Still, Florpavian Flame-birds were a risky cargo_ and damned tricky to transport _ which is probably the only reason he__ had any entertainment at all on the last trip.