Step into my office

So, it's no secret that I am playing the job field. I know it. You know it. My bosses know it. My parents know it. But I'm still trying to walk the line between discretion and transparency.

My current "office" is on the top floor of a brand new office building. "We" have about a third of the floor. One of my bosses asks me yesterday if I have poked my nose around the other two-thirds of the floor. I had not.

I really should have.

You see, we "work" in a shopping mall. OK, it's one of those mixed use development things with office space and apartments and retail space. I've been doing a lot of phone interviewing the past two months. I've also been fielding about five calls a day from headhunters. Now, I don't exactly want to take those calls at my desk. Or in the hallway just outside our door. If I step just outside, I am bombarded like Manuel Noriega in the Panamanian invasion by soft, smooth jazz. Mortifyingly, a couple recruiters have even asked me if I am in an elevator. I can go to my truck, but it's a good 15 minute round trip ... which greatly decreases my stealthability for these missions.

Well, imagine my glee when I opened the door to the north third of the floor today.

Giant open space fully sealed off from any prying eyes and ears. And, best of all, a full five bars of glorious T-Mobile service. No more sunburns from standing between the wall and the dumpster over by the vacant retail space.

Score.