My very first job was at a fruit mart. My boss was fair in general, but pretty harsh about slacking off – if you had a second between stacking the carrots and taking a customer, you had better be wiping off the counters or restocking the salad bar. And if you’re going to the break area to use the bathroom, bring a mop with you and do the floors on the way.
Consequently, I’m pretty paranoid about others thinking that I’m slacking off at work. I like being productive, and get stressed if there isn’t enough to do. And I feel compelled to account for my time at work, which means I have a completely anal-retentive record of everything I do during the day, kept in Evernote.
Unfortunately, today my mental neuroses clashed with my physical reality.
You see, I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can’t actually sit up in my office chair comfortably for 8 hours running. By 3:00PM, I was leaning back as far as I could while still viewing my computer screen. To anyone walking by my cubicle, I looked like I was either on cracked out on codeine or was trying to take a nap.
I swear, I wasn’t slacking off. Please don’t hit me with the mop. I just don’t bend much at the waist anymore. After fretting about this unnecessarily for 5 minutes, I discovered I could sit cross-legged and appear alert, albeit somewhat like an-overstuffed Buddha.
Problem solved. In a manner of speaking. Clearly, Buddha did not do a lot of desk work.