In what can only be thought of as an "Office Space" moment, the small group I'm in has been moved. The first of two moves, actually. This one being to a set of abandoned rooms in a deserted office area. (The second move will be to our permanent digs, in our very own space set apart from the rest of the larger cubicle farm. It looks, on paper, to be some sort of quarantine.)
So now we each have our own offices. Doors! A modicum of privacy! We feel important and whatnot until we realize that we look out onto rows and rows of hastily left cubicles. Somewhat reminiscent of an office fleeing a zombie apocalypse. Or an ebola outbreak. There is a sense that perhaps we should be stocking up on k-rations or scouring the rest of the rooms for supplies. The smell of a kerosene lamp would not be unwelcome.
Important-looking people with business attire, tape measures and a decided professional air wander through the offices, taking measurements for when they move their department in for real. This does not help maintain the illusion that we are valued. I'm not even sure they acknowledged our group: squatting in offices, huddled over code and specifications, our screens flickering like pale proverbial campfires.
I suspect they aren't sure we'd speak English. Techno-ese, perhaps.
At some point I'm expecting our boss to swing by, coffee mug in hand, to ask us if we could just move our desks against the wall, that'd be greeeat.