monster sarcasm rally

One of the analysts quit yesterday. I'm wondering... Hmm... His office is quite a ways from my mini-cube. I don't know if I could get away with it. I got my snazzy mouse this way. The company has no objection to spending money on 'real' staff, but, as the editor, I count as support staff.

I might go get me a chair.

But a chair's a bit more noticeable than a mouse. Wheeling it down the office, smacking into people, knocking stuff over, I'd draw a fair amount of attention to myself. If Bridget Jones liked me, I'd get away with it. As it is, my continued existence is a constant source of irritation to her. I'm sure she'd relish the chance to take an undeserved luxury away from me. She'd probably point out that I was only worth the $35 Ikea model. Nicer chairs are reserved for people who earn them; you know, like the analysts, the assistants, the Ferengi, New Chick, the out of town employees who come to the office every so often, and that office the plants used to use.

I know! I'll get New Chick to make the swap once everybody else has gone home.

Ha!
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Update:
The bond traders all got new chairs yesterday. I swiped one of their old ones. It's a goood chair: comfy, supportive, solid. It looks like somebody spilled some coffee on it. I mean, I hope that's coffee. Oh, and get this: it's Beandog-coloured, meaning my chair will no longer look as though he's the one who's been sitting in it. Well, actually it will, but not noticeably so. Whatever. It's comfy.
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Update to the update:
Last night New Chick took the chair I swiped from the bond desk and swapped it with the one I really wanted.

Sweet success!