Like The Jeffersons, but with more flushing

I just got promoted. I know, yay me.

It's pretty exciting. I've been here less than a year and I'm overjoyed and flattered that the powers that be feel I am ready to go to the next level, or at least I'm ready to fake being ready. That's a huge vote of confidence.

I know I've come a long way in that time. I've gone from a writer of deliverables I'd never created about things I'd never written about to being a subject matter expert in a pretty high-profile area. I've gone from being a lone wolf to being part of a team, and now the boss of really talented and cool people.

But there's another metric I use to gauge that I've really arrived. I think it says it all.

When I started last June, I was assigned to the best cube available. And by that, I mean the best cube available to someone completely lacking in seniority in an office with a fully staffed creative team. I got the toilet cube.

That's right, my cube was right next to the john. Of course, I was not in a position to complain and having worked at home with my children, husband and dog, it's safely established that I can work through anything. (I type this while simultaneously answering a question about the meaning of life for my son and detangling a toy from an embarrassing wealth of twist ties.)

But still. A flush is a flush. And two dozen flushes a day can really rob you of your self esteem and sense of worth in a company. I could hear everything. In consolation, I knew it wasn't as bad as the toilet office on the other side of the building, where it sounded like people were squatting right next to your desk. However, I still had to deal with some less-than-genteel noise, and with people balancing their notebooks and coffee cups and shit on the walls of my cube while they hit the head. I'm a good citizen, though, I figured things would change someday.

A few months after I started, an editor with a bit of seniority left and through a strange twist of good fortune, I became the one with enough longevity points to take over her cube. So I moved a little further from the toilet and closer to the awesome writers with whom I've established a great deal of love over the last 8 months.

The ultimate position of privelege for a non muckety-muck type at my company is a cube by the window. With this exulted spot, you gain a little more natural light and a lovely view of Highway 36 and StorageTek. (The fuckers on the other side get to look at the Flatirons. Not that I'm bitter.)

In the last two weeks, I got promoted and two managerial types with window seats announced that they were respectively leaving and going remote. That meant of course we were losing some amazing talent. But it also meant there were two window spots open. And as a now-manager, I get first crack.

So in less than a year, I've gone from toilet cube to window cube. I don't know if that's a record, but I feel it's significant and I'm pretty proud. Best of all, I get to stay in my row with my peeps, just one seat closer to the window. Win-win.

But I'll never forget where I came from. Every time I hear a flush, I'll think of my roots. It keeps me humble. Movin' on up, indeed.