When Start Up Means Start Over: Chucking the Cushy for the Cramped


The office I share with my partners, Matt and Nick, is no bigger than your typical county jail cell. To make up for the fact that the office has no window to the outside world, its walls have been painted bright orange. Not surprisingly, Sherwin-Williams #6893 is not a suitable substitute for the sun.

In accordance with feng shui, we’ve turned our desks to face out toward center, allowing us to stare at each other all day long. Our knees bump up against the bottom of the collapsible metal IKEA desks we occupy. Random pages spit out of the copier onto the floor, where they remain unclaimed. Diet Coke cans and orange rinds pile up in wastebaskets, waiting for the Garbage Fairy (who apparently comes only on Saturdays) to remove them. And it’s always too hot in here.

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