It meant working at an investment bank counting money, or whatever it is they do (we never were invited to find out firsthand). And we knew exactly which one we wanted to work at.
Goldman Sachs. Really for no other reason than the half baked notion that with a name like Goldman, it had to be...gilded. As in the office. We spent hours picturing ourselves in an office where the windows ran floor to ceiling, but everything else would be gold. The walls would be a shimmering glittery gelt. Gold upholstery and warm wood toned desks. The open, airy spaces twinkled with gold dust.
Imagine our surprise then, when we toured the place and found out that not even the logo is gold and the office -- at least in New York City -- is an open trading floor packed with computer monitors and clinically white desks.
So that was a bummer.
But not a loss entirely because we learned something about ourselves. We dream in the language of office design. And it turns out, we're not the only ones.
Last night we turned to a friend and asked, "What does your dream office look like," and before we knew it we were five minutes deep into her somewhat rambling but nonetheless impassioned description of a loft like work space with wooden floors and modern art on every wall and palm fronds in the corners and towards the end of her description, though the music was loud, we're pretty sure we heard something about her dad as the cheerful receptionist serving lemonade (...we're not sure either, ask Freud).
The point is, we asked what the dream office looks like - and there was an answer. But why wouldn't there be? We, the desk set, spend so much time in our offices how could we not have a dream for what type of space we would spend all these hours in?
The space where we spend our working lives is part our lives as much as it's part of our work.
It's not uncommon to have a dream job. Why should a dream office be any different?
It's a part of the vision after all.
Tell us yours.
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