Desked-esque

Manuel, master of the Well Done Fillet, shared his tidy, tea-bag encrusted desk with the world.  He is a fine man – the Miss Manners of the restaurant biz.  Far from benign, however, one must be careful to remain in his good graces, lest he feel compelled to poke you with his rusty “stabbing fork”. 

He asked to see my desk*.  i don’t actually have one.  Well, i have one, but i don’t do anything there, except pile shit into random stacks, keep important papers in theoretically safe places, and lose my daughter’s W-2 tax statement in an annual ritual that pisses off both of us**… 

This is what i submitted to the fine people at “desked“. 

yes. it's a comfy chair...

Not technically a desk.  But for me, the “office” is where the laptop resides.  This is where i write.  Pay bills.  Yap on the phone with my mother while surfing the internet.  Stare vacantly into space, scratching my bits, and contemplating important stuff…

Pack of Marlboro’s, glass of Diet Coke and my cell phone on the table.  Guitar strings in the basket below.  Pretty uninspiring.  But it’s comfortable.  My bubble.  It is what it is…

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* Silverstar has played along, too…  and has a much more interesting collection of ‘stuff’.

** Last year, i lost her annual earnings statements, and she had to move mountains to get a duplicate.  This year?  You guessed it.  But i thought i’d found it – and assured her i had it.  Until i realized that was a different statement – about a month before the tax filing deadline.  So she had to do it again.  When she e-mailed me the electronic copy?  It came with the admonishment – “and don’t lose this one, because if you do I’m going to punch you in the face.  Not really, but don’t lose it”.