It ain't where you from, it's where you at

These are (grainy, low-res cameraphone) photos of the hallway outside my old office. One of the myriad indignities of this particular office was that it had only two electrical outlets. (The others included the fact that it was constantly 82 degrees, it had no windows, it was directly across from the men's room, and the former occupant was a chainsmoking junkie who left behind a yellow residue on the hand-me-down desk plus a lot of spoons and cotton balls.) Anyhow, I endured--nay, PROSPERED--by employing a number of power strips.

The new occupant of this office is, I think, miffed to have been re-stationed. And rather than use my multiple-power-strip method, Occupant has chosen to go the ghetto fabulous route, illustrated above, of plugging an extension cord into the wall by the men's room, ferreting it up THROUGH the mouldering ceiling tiles, and then snaking it into the office.

Score another point for Office Morale!