I moved into a window office a couple of months ago. So, now instead of staring across the hall into my boss’ office, I can stare at this:
The building doesn’t actually look quite that despondently, depressingly Soviet, especially on sunnier, bluer-skied days. And it has a nice roof deck — roof deck envy being a major pastime of mine — on which I watched a couple get married earlier this summer.
However. The downside of a window office is, of course, the ability to see and be seen by the fine denizens of the Bristol House. I am less concerned about being looked at — I find it unlikely that there’s some cretin over there who has a weird itch for mid-30s association flacks — than I am about possibly, inadvertently spying on someone’s private moment and then being pegged as a cretin myself.
What do you look at all damn day?