And here I thought I was going to come back from lunch telling you that the only highlight of the hour was watching an old man watch a squirrel.

(Was anyone watching me watch the old man watch the squirrel? Or was the squirrel just playing mindgames with both the old man and me?)

When I came back to my desk, like the three bears discovering their blonde intruder, I was surprised to find a total stranger sitting there, making phone calls. For a split second, I blushed, figuring I had taken a wrong turn somewhere and wound up accosting someone at their own cubicle. Then I spied Touchdown Obi-Wan on the computer and the friendly, large fellow put his hand over the receiver and said “Is this your spot?”

“Yes” I mumbled awkwardly “But, uh, make yourself comfortable. It’s all good.” What the fuck, Jamie? Is this “Beauty and the Beast?” Is a singing teapot going to welcome this complete stranger to invade the few square feet you can be alone in this building?!

So I went and studied my reflection in the bathroom mirror for a few minutes.

Came back, he’s still there.

I went to the supplies closet and picked out a few nice pens and push pins for myself.

Came back, he’s still there. Just doing business. Talking on the phone. Fiddling with a Blackberry (God, those things are so cool).

Ok, this is crazy! I thought. I gotta get back to work (which I suddenly found I have a lot of due to a mislabeling of a file) and as I approached my desk for the third time, ready to huff, puff, and blow the cubicle down (wait….wrong fairy tale) he kindly stood up and showed me a note he had just written, thanking me for letting him use my desk.

I told him he was welcome and he shuffled off. For all I know, he just did a crazy amount of drug/mafia/evil business, and when the phone call gets traced, it will come back to me and I will go to the slammer. But gosh, he wrote a note. Nobody writes thank you notes anymore.

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