It’s a lonely desk that sits unadorned, devoid of tchotchkes, deprived of personality. From piles of papers to slivers of snacks, things appear on and disappear from desks throughout the hectic workday. But a desk is a whirlwind lacking deeper meaning without those personal displays of home and hobby — family pictures, birthday cards, bits of odds and ends.
Adceteran desks are not bereft of that deeper meaning. Our tchotchkes give us character and showcase our spunk. Needless to say, there’s a lot of weird shit scattered around the office.
And there are several reasons you should be envious of Steven (affably known as Wolfie) Wolfson’s desk. He happens to sit against a wall — a coveted desk spot for those of us with flimsy cubicle barriers. Not only that, but he’s nearest to the only set of couches you’ll find on the second floor of our building — perfect nap spot much? His desk boasts an entire collage of cuteness, of which his daughter and wife are the stars. There’s also the mini bar (kinda), sporting a selection of tiny bottles from Jack Daniels whiskey to Bombay Sapphire gin. But most importantly, his desk houses the only aquarium you’ll find in the office.
His water-dwelling friends consist of two clownfish (dubbed Marlon and Raoul after our Adceteran office clowns), two emerald crabs (Crabby Patty and Selma, naturally), a tiny hermit crab or two that seem to cling to the tank’s rock structure for dear life, and an anemone stoically standing watch. As far as desk collectibles go, a three-gallon saltwater tank full of living tchotchkes is, like, art, right?
Even better is the intrigue from the tank’s initial appearance. Only one fish held down the fort at the time, but not too long after settling into its new home, the little guy mysteriously went missing. A prank gone awry? Fish-napping of the first degree? A couple of days passed — no one returned the fish, no culprit came forward. Things became tense around the office as coworkers gave each other the fish eye and waited for the corpse to surface. A week after the crime, the victim was discovered under Wolfie’s desk, several feet from the tank. A jumper? Perhaps. But the rumors still lurk about, and the whispers about conspiracy and foul play have not yet quieted completely. Fortunately for us, the current occupants just keep swimming, safe and sound.