By the time Potato realised it was late, the office had already decided it was early.
The workspace buzzed with the urgency of a place that believed productivity was a personality trait. Chairs squeaked. Lanyards swayed. Someone microwaved fish with the confidence of a person who had already submitted their resignation in spirit. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, illuminating rows of desks arranged with military optimism.
Potato occupied Desk 47B, which came equipped with a laptop, an empty cardboard box, and a small dustbin that looked like it had given up on collecting trash.
Potato stared at the screen.
The spreadsheet stared back.
They regarded each other as ancient rivals might, both pretending not to blink.
Columns were labelled with acronyms. Rows marched downward in numerical obedience. There were totals at the bottom that felt judgmental. Potato suspected the spreadsheet knew exactly what it wanted, and was disappointed that Potato did not.
“Okay,” Potato said, to no one and everyone. “Let’s do work.”
Nothing happened.
Potato observed the surrounding humans for guidance. To the left, a woman typed furiously, stopped, deleted everything, typed again, and then leaned back as if she had just wrestled a bear made of emails. To the right, a man nodded at his screen periodically, as though agreeing with points no one else could hear.
Across the aisle, someone sighed so deeply that the air itself seemed to file a complaint.
Potato took notes mentally. Step one: stare intensely. Step two: sigh. Step three: nod, but with conviction.
Potato stared at the spreadsheet with newfound seriousness.
It sighed. The sigh was more of a soft exhale, but it felt correct.
It nodded.
Still nothing happened, but Potato felt more official.
A calendar notification burst onto the screen.
MEETING IN 3 MINUTES
Potato panicked.
Meeting was not a word you aligned. It was a condition that either occurred naturally or was forced upon unwilling participants. Potato clicked the notification. A video call window opened, revealing a grid of faces, each framed by bookshelves they clearly did not read.
Potato’s camera was on.
Potato did not remember agreeing to this.
“Good morning,” said someone who looked like they were permanently mid-presentation. “Before we begin, can everyone confirm they’ve reviewed the deck?”
Potato nodded automatically.
No deck had been reviewed. No deck had been seen. Potato was not entirely sure what a deck was in this context, but assumed it was not made of wood.
The meeting continued. Words flew past like corporate birds: bandwidth, leverage, pivot, circle back. Potato understood none of them individually, but together they formed a warm fog of importance.
At one point, someone asked, “Potato, do you want to take that offline?”
Potato froze.
Offline was a place. Possibly a bad one.
“Yes,” Potato said. “I will… take it.”
“Great,” said the presenter, relieved. “Action item captured.”
Potato felt something click into place. This was work. Agreeing to things and letting them become future problems.
After the meeting, Potato returned to the spreadsheet, emboldened. It typed a number. This time, it did not erase it. The total at the bottom changed.
The spreadsheet reacted.
Potato gasped.
A coworker leaned over the divider. “Nice catch on that variance.”
Potato did not know what a variance was, but it enjoyed being nice at it.
As the afternoon wore on, Potato developed a routine. Change a cell. Stare thoughtfully. Occasionally, say, “Interesting,” at the screen. When emails arrived, Potato replied, “Looping back with thoughts shortly,” which seemed to satisfy everyone and required no actual thoughts.
The small desk plant watched all of this with quiet judgment.
By the end of the day, the office began to empty. Chairs slid in. Laptops closed with decisive clicks. Potato remained, basking in the soft glow of a job well performed, or at least well inhabited.
Potato still did not know what the work was.
But several things had been aligned. At least one variance had been caught. An action item existed somewhere in the world, presumably running free.
Potato rolled slightly in the chair, proud and exhausted.
Tomorrow, there will be more spreadsheets. More meetings. Possibly a deck.
And Potato would be ready.
It would stare first.
