I've been literally swamped at work.  My office has been gutted, and I've been trying to dry out my papers.  The mold's already set in, and in addition to my many other tasks I'm looking at a long slog of pealing documents apart and copying them to try to reassemble all of my research. 

I've moved into one big, open-floor space with three other departments, and will be working from there for the next month, at least.  It's a completely different office ecology than I'm used to there.  Like going from an island (less Azores than Alcatraz, but whatever) to a swamp.  I've even discovered an alligator or two.

Our school librarian doesn't look like one.  In fact, she's straight our of Pixar studios.  An elfish woman about my age who is offensively perky with an evil glint in her eye.  Though the library was not impacted by the flood (it's in a whole nother building, in fact) she had apparently had plans to set up a workspace in the office that predated the event and decided to go ahead and make the move now.  

Her needs in an office space are simple.  She apparently just wants a desk away from the hustle and hurry of the library, where she can surf the web in peace.  She found an old oak desk in a back corner of the room, and plugs in her laptop when she needs it, which actually isn't often. 

But she was moving in when we were.  You have to understand the chaos the administrative wing was in.  Four floors of faculty, admin and executive offices were flooded.  Everything from student and employee records to accounts payable and payroll files were in complete disarray, damaged or lost.  It was probably not the time for a casual move you'd been contemplating for awhile but just hadn't gotten around to.

I think maybe she wanted to be a part of the hubbub.  Early in the week there was that sense of excitement that accompanies minor catastrophes.  Everyone's abuzz with their own personal tale of woe.  Bonding like refugees from a natural disaster.

So she set up shop in the back corner of the room, choosing a natty oak desk, thoroughly disinfecting it, and hanging inspirational posters on the facing wall.  I set up shop in the opposite corner, on one of those big old steel utility desks that doubles as a bomb shelter, shoving aside the clutter and unloading boxes of documents for immediate review, and hunkering down.

Around one I went out for lunch and when I came back I sat down at my desk, naturally.  You know when someone adjusts the height of your chair?  Well, mine was about six inches lower than when I left, and I felt like I was gonna fall on my keister.  And then I realized — this wasn't even the same chair I'd had when I left for lunch!

There were two kinds of chairs in the office.  There were desk chairs, with a little more in the way of lumbar support, and then there were these sort of low-frill conference table chairs, purposely made to be a little uncomfortable.  Someone had switched out the former for the latter at my desk while I was at lunch.

And that someone was the librarian.

Now, there were actually plenty of desk chairs to go around, and still several unoccupied desks, but searching my memory and scanning the room to see where mine had gone, it was clear the librarian had consciously chosen to swipe one from someone who had claimed it, rather than from an unclaimed space (and there was one equidistant, to boot).

What to do?

I mean, if you swipe it back — and she wasn't in the room when I returned — it's basically a declaration of war.  And as exciting as that sounds, I'd had quite enough excitement for the day, and was actually winding down. You can't win, anyway. If you don't react she's won, and if you do, well, she's a vampire who'll gleefully suck the life-force out of you, and get even perkier while you wither away. 

And you know, the last thing I wanted was every time I left the room to have my chair stolen and have to scheme to steal it back whenever she was out.  I could take a different tack altogether and, like, glue all her desk drawers shut.  Or loosen a few choice screws in the stolen desk chair and hope to be there to see what happens next. 

Why not just confront her?  Because she'd play the victim then, and she'd be plotting and scheming against me ever after.  No, that wouldn't do at all.  So I simply went to another workspace that was as yet unoccupied and swapped chairs with it.  It seemed the adult thing to do.

When the librarian returned, she flashed me that twisted, glinty little smirk like we had a secret.  She had won, and enlisted me in her evil scheme to boot. 

Because the next day I was talking to my favorite officemate Elsie.  She'd been out the day of the big move, and when I came in at midday she was at the desk I'd swapped chairs with the day before.  Of course, she had no idea.

So I started telling her about what had gone down.  How instead of just grabbing a free chair the librarian had waited until I popped out for lunch to cadge mine, and how I had thwarted her obvious provocation by... and then I looked down at Elsie's ratty old chair.

Her eyes narrowed. 

"So you stole my chair?" she said.

"Well," I stammered. "It's not like it was your chair at that point.  I mean, how would I to know you'd pick this workspace?"

"Whatevah." 

She turned resolutely away from me and set back to work.

"Look, I'll steal you that one!" I said, pointing to a desk assigned to an adjunct who was only in a couple nights a week. 

"Forget it!" she snapped, and waved me away.

I slinked back to my workspace with its luxurious seating, to contemplate the evil genius of the librarian's master plan. 

I have a feeling this is only the beginning.