• No Dinner Buffet
• No Solicitors
• We Do Not Accept Checks
• No Public Restrooms
• Do Not Park Here If You Are Shopping Elsewhere
• The Warmest of Welcomes

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Once in a Blue Moon, I need to work for a few hours away from our main office. This morning was one of those days and I gleefully trotted to the cubicle, where I parked my stuff once before. The same cubicle that I once referenced as a sensory deprivation chamber, much to the bewilderment of my co-workers. That is however how I view this off-site cube. Tall walls, no windows, and lots of desks shoved together. Oh well, I only was scheduled there for an hour or so.

Walking into the cube, I passed the little sign that referenced “Dave Somethingorother.” Oh well, all “Daves” are the same, right? Several people were huddled in the general cube space conferencing about their upcoming day. I moved some of their utility marker flags and paper copies of maps. I excused myself and squeezed into my space. They really did not seem to mind. “Must be one of those ‘Dave’ guys.”

Updating a spreadsheet and waiting for my day’s meeting to begin, I could not help but overhear their conversation. “Measuring turtles (or counting them or something like that)…” “You will need to wear your safety vest (something, something)…” “Did you talk to ‘Wildman’ yesterday?”

What? Wait a second? Wildman? I could not really resist the temptation of asking. I turned to them and asked, “Why is he known as Wildman?” The college interns seemed stunned. Apparently, the Dave of the Day had never spoken to them before? Well, I am Dave and I can speak and since we are sharing such small quarters and I cannot help but hear this entire random conversation so, “Who is this Wildman?” Somewhat embarrassed, but also hoping to justify their conversation, one of the interns responded, “Oh, that is the beginning of his email address, his name followed by ‘Wildman.’” Chuckling slightly, I returned to my spreadsheet. Ah, I was fitting into my little cubicle away from home world.

Over the next hour, they gradually mobilized to head out and count turtles (or measure them, I’m not sure which). The last to leave was their supervisor, who asked me, “So do you work for Bruce (or Toby or John or Larry or Chuck or something like that)?” No, I replied. I’m Dave and when I work from here, this is where I set up shop. She seemed satisfied and headed off to supervise the turtle quantification duties. I was somewhat pleased with myself. I could have easily joined the turtle expedition, but something was nagging at me.

Why did my co-workers think it was odd that I called it a sensory deprivation cube? Why were there so many turtle counting interns located so close to the desk? Who was this other Dave that I had so easily replaced? I brushed the questions aside, as I headed to my meeting. Only problem, I was unsure where to head. Stopping by the front desk, I asked for directions and in addition to pointing me to the right place, they also handed me a map. I had previously asked for directions on three occasions, on the fourth trip, you apparently earn a map. Looking at the map I realized something odd. The cubicle I had been parked in. The cubicle belonging to the mysterious other Dave. The cubicle surrounded by environmental type interns was listed on the map as “Intern Cubicles.”

Using my new found map knowledge, I traveled around to other sites that looked as if they would be intended for my nomadic work duties. That’s when I stumbled upon it. About 50 feet from the cluster of turtle loving interns was my intended home away from home, a cubicle basking in natural sunlight. A cubicle that even listed my name. My name! The right place for the right Dave. I was no Wildman here. No misplaced bureaucrat in search of a home. I had landed where I belonged, my cubicle wandering days were over. My crashing of intern conversations drifted into the heat of the adjoining copy machine. Sleep well dear turtles, this man would not be counting you tonight.

Earlier this week at work, I received the coolest gift from a coworker.  Well, not cool, more like hot.  Hot like lava hot.  Yes indeedly do, my very own mini lava lamp.

Actual footage of the lava lamp heating up.

I thought all was going well.  The lamp was a lavaing.  I was a enjoying.  Coworkers were a wondering.  Plus, anytime I was stuck, I would glare into the lamp of lava and answers did not arrive, but it certainly was fun to view.

Yep, all seemed to be going well, until I glanced down at my socks.  First, don’t ask why I could see my socks at work.  It really doesn’t matter much, I’m happy, and no one is getting hurt, so move on.  Move on to Number Two and since I don’t recall Number Two, I shall focus once again upon my socks.

I glanced down at my socks and there on the bottom looks like a hole suspiciously like it was burned in the bottom of my sock.  A full blown sock mystery, until I glanced at the lava lamp.  I guess one should not warm their feet by their desktop lava lamp.  This should really be noted in the Manufacturer’s Guidelines, just sayin’.

Sad, just plain sad.  Not even lava is gonna mend these bad boys.  Believe me, I’ve tried.

What to do with an immovable object?  Make the bed around it, err him.

Our 12-year-old Jacob is fond of saying, “RKO,” whenever someone provides biting commentary or a wicked respond.

I always assumed that he was just making a mistake and intending to say, “TKO,” a.k.a. Technical Knockout.

Trying to find out if my assumption was correct, I asked what RKO means.  His response, “Right Out of Nowhere Knockout.”

Hmm, but would’t that be RONKO?  Oops, there’s one more exhibit in the case “Jacob’s dad is sure getting old.” RKO!

It’s amazing how mothers can make even terrifying “people-eating tree photos” heartwarming.

Dropping the boys off for school, I wished my Third Grader Sam well in that afternoon’s school musical.  He was to play a swordfish in the story, which highlights how each fish is different and special in their own way.

My First Grader Ben, who had previewed the show’s dress rehearsal, overheard my encouragement and offered the following unsolicited review.  “That play stinks.”

I’m still not sure if Sam has a future in theater, but his little brother certainly shows promise as a critic.

The temps are heating up and the socks are being shed.  Unfortunately, the Paulsen Boys have placed their socks on the grill.  Good thing we ordered pizza tonight.  Otherwise, here’s hoping that charred hosiery comes back in style (if it ever was). #FashionTrendsetters

Sitting in a satellite office at work, I was in unfamiliar surroundings. The cubicle was new. The cubicle was remote. All around me was quiet. I was alone. Alone in a strange place. Just me and my spreadsheet.

I entered data. Silence.

I summed the totals of columns. Silence.

I glanced up at the blank cubicle wall before me. Deadening silence.

“Pop!”

I nearly jumped out of my chair and over the low office wall. Someone at a distance had opened a can of soda and I nearly had a heart attack.

Dave Paulsen, living on the edge. A very over caffeinated edge.

If you look past it all…  Through the dirty window screen…  Ignore the misplaced bird dropping on the window…  Beyond the missed shot…  Avoiding the lawn in need of a trim…  Forgiving the untalented photographer…  Don’t question the out of place trampoline…

Yes, looking past it all, you will see a thing of beauty.  Two brothers joyfully playing basketball on a picturesque Spring evening.  Perfect, flaws and all.