In the pursuit of plugging everything in using the two outlets my 1967 building has graced my office area with, I spent most of the morning trying to run an extension cord behind my huge, heavy, not-going-move-it leather rack. This involved balancing precariously on the top of my step ladder (you know, on the very top where it says “NOT A STEP”), wedging myself above the shelf and between the rafters and over the conduit into the corner, and then fishing the extension cord up and down behind. The FedEx guy came in while I was on top of the shelf, up against the ceiling, with only my feet sticking out, sincerely hoping I’d have the strength to push myself back out. He asked if I need help and I bravely told him I was good. Actually, I had conduit digging into my ribs, I was dripping sweat all over my glasses, and he missed the groans of effort and pain working myself back in there and then back out (twice, because I didn’t know what tools I’d need the first time I squeezed in there). My desk is not pushed all the way back against the wall because there’s an inconveniently placed floor vent; it’s about a foot out from the wall and the outlet is back there. I also had to lie on my side and scooch in behind the desk to the outlet to plug in the cord and then inch my way back out. This is an excellent way to find and appreciate all of the rivets on your jeans. But hey!! I have ice cream in my new shop freezer and I think I deserve a treat!