Cubically Speaking: Little Things from a Small Office

I sit in an “office” by a lovely window on the first floor, as some of you may know. (Granted it is a mammoth assumption to assume that the ‘you’ in the prior sentence is, in fact, plural, but humor me.) The view from the window looks across a lovely concrete plaza to the Sugar House bus stop. It’s wonderful for monitoring smoke breaks for everyone in the building and reflecting on the homeless they come by in between the smoke breaks, scavenging used cigarette butts. A week or so ago, one of the older, grubbier regulars had brought a newly-minted high school drop out by to show her the best cigarette-scavenging spots. It was quite touching, in a circle-of-life kind of way.

Making this so much better is the fact that the building backs onto an urban oasis; the drainage from the Sugar House park pond flows through the open air, creek-like as it meanders through cottonwoods and half-submerged shopping carts. The drainage area has several paved and unpaved trails around it with green mesh park benches. It’s called Hidden Hollow. It’s really the perfect place to catch a glimpse of the upscale homeless. ‘Upscale homeless?’ you ask. Yes, the ones who abandoned their shopping carts in the creek for beat-up ten speeds and bungee cords. They often spend warm afternoons under the shade of the cottonwoods, talking to their other selves about the best places to scavenge cigarette butts. When I am feeling particularly generous (which is rare for a banker, regardless of the economic times), I leave my half-eaten lunch at the top of the over-flowing garbage can so they don’t have to dig as far to find it. It’s those days that give my little, little heart a warm, happy feeling that lasts until I can reject some one else’s pathetic loan request.

I love my office.