A clever skill has developed while my muscles atrophy: I've become deft at recognizing coworkers' footsteps. Yes! Yes! This sounds a bit creepy, but surely you recognize how useful this can be.
My boss does not drag his feet; his steps are rooted in purpose.
Guy-who-chats-too-much has a slow, measured approach, much like a chatty tiger, preparing to chew the fat with/of his prey.
Crazy-man-whom-I-love-because-he's-crazy saunters by serenely. I don't really spend much time on his steps because he's always yelling. It's great.
Woman-who-dislikes-me-because-I-can-do-her-job ambles by quickly, taking anxious breaths that suggest her job is extraordinarily taxing. (Why doesn't she see that I'm charming?)
I could continue, of course, but I really don't want to reveal the secrets of this skill quite yet. I like to think I can still approach a cubicle undetected.
Today, my desk has tulips on it.
