This is the quietest that the floor at work gets.
There is a conspicuous hum of the air conditioning and faraway sounds of rustling papers and someone folding a plastic bag. There’s the occasional cough and sputter and muffled sound of someone on the phone.
It’s eerie yes, but also very calming. You have the printer to yourself. Granted that it may not necessarily work, but I’d rather deal with an angry printer than ten people jostling to use it. The sound of typing echoes a little and well I have always thought that it is a delightful sound, like stories being created or a tapestry being put together with wooden spindles. Very often, I shut my eyes and type, letting the sound fill me up to the brim.
There is no one else on the floor now. The people in the distance have left. When I crane my neck, I see rows and rows of empty desks, where their computers are still warm from being used all day.
The pantry feels squeaky clean, the smell of coffee replaced by the smell of medicinal flowers from the room freshener.
When I leave, the raw sound of my feet against the floor is magnified. It feels like a lot of people are clapping around me, cheering me on at the end of a long day.