The Territory Called 'Desk'

Each day Gert goes off to work, leaving his desk and computer unprotected ...

My territorial infringement begins innocently enough, his computer has better speakers and he can do computer-ese, so the music is all on his side.

My computer is on, my desk is overflowing with papers and books; his computer is on, and his desk has a lot of clear space and order.

His computer's memory is bigger than mine and after many years of nagging by my computer-savvy men friends, my photographs are all backed up on his computer ... just in case, god forbid, my laptop dies. So the music's playing and I'm writing a post for the blog, I need a photograph or two, so I move to his desk ... rolling his office chair back over from mine.

When I was interviewing the New Zealand climbers, I was told stories of ... well appropriation of property belonging to other climbers. One of my 'interviewees' had been up on K2 with his Kiwi expedition group. There were many nationalities, some kinder (perhaps more gullible) than others. He told me of the nightly meetings in Camp Kiwi where the competition points were tallied up ... who had appropriated, stolen, been given, 'borrowed' the best stuff. Oh those kiwis ... so it's no surprise to me that I have already appropriated (such a nice word) Gert's office chair.

Actually, as an aside, I was an Airforce wife for 4 years and while tagging along on a tour being given to a visiting American officer, I remember his shocked 'Where did you get that from!?' The Kiwi officer said with a smile, 'Oh we retrieved it...' It was a contemporary piece of American military property ... something they shouldn't have had but then Kiwis have a little bit of everything from everyone back in New Zealand but we're not bad people, rather sweet really.

So ... I have Gert's chair, his computer is playing my music, I'm using it to post the photographs on my blog ... so I may as well stay there and write the post, changing his keyboard from Dutch to English. My books my papers my pens and pencils all make their way over to his side, lightening the load on my desk a little.

My coffee cup, my box of tissues, my hand cream, my phone and a plate with toast crumbs.

Suddenly, the day is gone and he's on his way home. So begins the mad rush to clear his desk, to reunite it with his psyche, taking away all traces of mine ... well, taking his office chair back to my side.

I'm not bad at it, there haven't been too many complaints, although he misses the good pencils, the stapler and paper clip holder on occasion but I'm benevolent ... what's on mine is his.