It’s funny, my boss walked up about a half an hour ago to check and see how I was doing. Seconds before she arrived, I had pushed my chair back a couple feet and was in the process of letting my brain take a breather from all the mindless pattern pushing I had been performing on my keyboard. By the time boss arrived, my hands were clasped and head bowed like I was doing my biweekly yoga Namaste. She stuck her head over the cube (tall lady, my boss) and breathed, “Heyyy.” She scared the crap outta me. She quickly apologized after seeing my reaction and asked what I have been doing. “Oh I was just, uh, taking a break… been busy.” She didn’t buy it as she again apologized for cutting my nap short. But I wasn’t sleeping… again I tried to explain that, but she kept her smile and told me it was “OK,” then promptly walked away.

So wait. Does she really not care? Maybe she is elated to see that someone else sleeps on the job, maybe she’s collecting ammo? Is she going to tell my other boss jokingly? What if he doesn’t think it’s funny? Crap. And I wasn’t even sleeping.

I was an intern years ago in a highly secured government building – we are talking CAC Card, security clearance and another clearance particular to my division just to get to the floor I worked on. So here I am, a lowly, overdressed and overly happy intern coming into work excited about the idea of accepting calls and scanning papers all day. During my first week, however, everyone that I was going to be working with was in another state for a conference so no one was there to… really, do anything, much less tell ME what to do.

So after a couple days of the purest form of boredom, I decide to bring in my new external hard drive, stocked with the latest and greatest four seasons of Family Guy and proceed to have the time of my life watching cartoons with the recurring thought of “Holy Crap I’m getting paid for this,” going through my head. Life was good, and I started to think I could get away with more than an occasional illegally downloaded t.v. show. Start the two hour lunch breaks. Start the “Thank God I don’t have to punch in, of course I worked eight hours” mindsets. Start the “I’m going to take a nap under my desk because I am King of this cubicle castle and there is a door on it.”

Wait… what?

As I round up another Season Two Family Guy episode, I feel the inevitable post [two hour] lunch coma start to set in and I start saying to myself, “God I hate that 5 Hour Energy Drink guy and his stupid commercial, but he’s totally right.” So I get thinking.

I write “OUT” on a Post-it and strategically place it on my window then shut the door. Analyzing the lines of sights available to people walking by, I decide that I will sleep under my desk to ensure the safety of my internship and remaining dignity. I place my backpack (oh yeah, backpack) under my head as a pillow and pull my chair into the desk. I am out of sight – completely covered by my desk and even chair if someone were to walk in. As I reveled in my rebellious act of stupidity, I came up with an alibi; if someone were to walk in, I would tell them I was just fixing the arm that held the keyboard… looking back I could have thought of something better.

It’s still awkward to put into words the magnitude of FML that I had just reached.

I’m zonked out for about an hour and a half when I am suddenly awakened (shocker). I open my eyes, to a dumbfounded man in his fifties trying to decide if this kid is dead or if he should avoid all awkward oncoming situations and sneak out. I shoot up on my elbows and throw out the first word, “Oh.” A few seconds passed, the tension was pulpous in my full stomach, “I was just… uhh,” cue my alibi, “taking a nap.”

It’s still awkward to put into words the magnitude of FML that I had just reached.As I got to my feet, hoping some of the blood would go down there and leave my face, the old man fumbled his words but communicated that he was just looking for an open office to use for the day and that he was sorry for waking me up. He had obviously never encountered a worker extraordinaire such as myself. Oh wait, he doesn’t work here? Jackpot. “Oh this is my office, sorry. I am sure there are some open ones around here. You can leave your stuff in here while you look, if you want.” The man, still stupefied, left in his cheap suit and weathered briefcase. I never got in trouble, my boss showed no signs of ever knowing.

So what’s the point? Well the last story had no point, it was just a way to keep you from crawling under your desk and perhaps ruining your career. But I have a theory.

My theory: everyone sleeps at work. Whether they want to or not, a cubically inclined white-collared sheep cannot possibly stare at the white background of Microsoft Office applications all day without feeling their chin drop forward a couple inches, making breathing become something of a chore – a chore almost as difficult as keeping your weighted eyes from taking you to Anywhere But Heresville. Does your boss care if you sleep? Probably. But using humor or a mixture of confidence and denial, you can overcome most sleeping-at-work situations.

-submitted by Sleeping in Seattle

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