Learning the sound of the squeakhinge down on the back gate*

I don't know the exact age of my new office building, but I wouldn't be at all surprised to find it was in the vicinity of a century. My tour of the office, during my first interview, involved the phrase: "and this is the trap door," followed by explanation that this used to be a distilliery, or part of the distillery district, at least. So the ceilings are high, but feel low because of the massively retrofitted ventilation and lighting systems, and the floors are hardwood -- old, thin strips of hardwood, that creak and grown and complain at the lightest step. (We also have mice, I'm told, who are particularly fond of chocolate. I've yet to see one.)

There are, of course, better and worse places for the creaking; I'm starting to learn which sides of the hallways to walk on to minimize the sound of my passing. I think I'd also forgotten how to walk softly (even when not carrying a big stick), so have been practicing not clomping around.

More importantly, though, I've been learning to 'read' the sounds the floor makes because my back is exposed to the entrance to my cube. This makes me paranoid about people sneaking up on me (never a good idea), and not just because I don't want to get 'caught' reading my personal email or checking Twitter. (Company policy is not that restrictive. It boils down to: don't abuse the system.) It's more of a control of personal space issue. There's the complication that the floor above us is identical to ours, so not only must I learn the sound of the floors around me, but the ones above me, too.

...I think I'm coming down with a headcold, which is making me thinking about random things and unable to focus on work. Bah.


*Partial title from Matchbox 20's "Kody":
There's a squeakhinge down on the back gate
let's us know if he comes around
but I don't sleep that good any way, no
and if you've never heard that silence, it's a god-awful sound...