When you open the office door in the morning to be greeted by beige and grey,
Dry warm air and the smell of computers
And yesterday’s lunches
And your heart sinks, shrivels and goes into hiding.
When your desk and the space around you is the smallest size it could legally be,
When you have no choice of whether or not you can sit by the window
And anyway the window might not even open,
And the view, if you have one, is the side of another office, or a road, or a block of flats.
When your senses are assaulted by the sound of phonecalls and the tapping of keyboards
And you feel yourself shrinking, contracting, trying block it all out,
And you wonder why you can’t concentrate,
And your mind runs around on the same old wheels, dreaming of a way out.
When others around you are beavering away
Seemingly oblivious to the distractions and ugliness,
And you wonder what is wrong with you and why you don’t fit in
And how on earth you can cope with this for another 30 years.
When you sit in a room with 50 people, but barely have a conversation for fear of creating too much noise,
And you feel trapped in a cage,
And you think you must be too sensitive, not good enough, not trying hard enough,
Just remember, escape is possible.
You’ve got the open plan office blues.
(Yes, I’ve been there, and yes, I did escape!)