When I worked at the Department of Justice many years ago we had an executive guy who sat in his window office in downtown Washington, D.C. and– get this– smoked cigarettes.
Oh, yes he did.
This was circa mid-90’s when I’m assuming few thought that secondhand smoke could affect those who weren’t smoking. There we’d be, us lowly office clerks filing and typing and answering the ever ringing phones with his cigarette funk floating through the vents all around us.
None of us would dare say anything like, “Um, excuse me, Mr. Reign Over Us, could you, um, stop smoking ALL DAY LONG INSIDE the building?”
Every so often he would emerge from his office and eyeball us and then return to his smoky den.
I think I once saw him with his feet propped up on his desk while gazing out of his window.
That guy rattled me to my utmost fibers.
Sometimes I wonder where he is now. Probably retired and sitting somewhere in flip-flops in Pensacola with a cigarette in his mouth.
Don’t know what made me think of him today but there he was hanging out in my mind annoying me post-offense.
Just thought I’d share an office story with you. Wink.