After six months at the University, I had finally completed the archeology course and was ready for my first big dig.

I arrived at the site just after sunrise, when the low-slung shadows would bring out the contours of the surface. With luck, its mounds, depressions, and other vague shapes would soon reveal their secrets.

I began mapping its major features on a large sheet of graph paper. This step was essential, since every artifact I found would have to be identified by coordinates that would pinpoint its original location.

Next, I began planting marker stakes in evenly-spaced parallel rows, then connecting them with string to form a gridwork of three-foot squares that matched the dimensions I had drawn on the graph paper.

Starting with the grid square in the near left corner, I gingerly sifted through the top few layers of debris. In the succeeding three hours, I found nothing that I hadn't expected to see.
Just before noon, with the tedium beginning to grow, my trowel struck something interesting. Gingerly, I brushed the dirt from the edges of what appeared to be a polished wooden object. Even after being buried for so long, it was still unmistakably man-made. Its surface still glimmered with old varnish. Its edges were cut and beveled into a perfect right angle.

My pulse quickened as more of the object began to reveal itself. Soon, it became clear that this was one of the artifacts I had been hoping to find. It was... MY DESK.

The midday sun glimmered off the trees outside my office window, casting a cool green glow over the dig site. I gazed upon the mounds, (presumably my empty file cabinets, buried in unfiled papers), the depressions, (areas of the floor upon which piles had fallen), the vague shapes, (my computer, wastebasket, and dead potted plants), and realized that a great deal of work still lay before me.

My reverie was interrupted by the hollow sound of someone knocking on the door frame. It was Ralph from down the hall. He had stopped in mid-sentence, but I think he was trying to ask if I was going to lunch. Instead, he just stared in disbelief at the scene before him.

"About time you cleaned your stinkin' office.", he declared at last. "What's with the stakes and string?"

I explained about the Archeology course and how I thought some of those scientific techniques would help me sort through the mess in my office.

"The strings form a grid coordinates", I continued, "I'm using them to determine the exact location of each week's pile, then work my way back in time.

His blank expression told me that he had no idea what I was talking about. I explained that every week, I would pile my paperwork on the corner of my desk. At the end of the week I would move that pile to some other horizontal surface in the office. Eventually, new piles were stacking up on old piles, creating an archeological strata of paperwork.

"In other words, there are over eight-hundred separate piles here", I explained, "one pile for each week for the past sixteen years. With this grid, I'll be able to pinpoint the exact location of each one; then put them in chronological order and file them."

Ralph just shook his head "So are you going to lunch or not?"

"No", I answered, catching an ancient piece of pizza crust, as it slid off a nearby pile, "I'll probably just catch a bite here."

As disgusting as it sounds, there appeared to be no lack of food on hand. On top of the desk alone, I found the remains of a pack of cheese crackers, half a stick of licorice, some petrified pretzel crumbs, and an apple that had dried and shrunk to the size of a ping pong ball.

In grid-square 18-west, I discovered the tax return I thought I had mailed last spring. On top of it, was the brass and mahogany 'executive model' electric pencil sharpener I had given up for lost, back in '91.

As the afternoon progressed, I unearthed quite a number of interesting surprises. In the northeast corner of the office, I discovered a lovely oak cadenza that I had completely forgotten about.
Beside it was a shoe box filled with what appeared to be carburetor parts. Then there was the 1987 calendar on the west wall. It had been frozen it time; still turned to the "August" page, which is apparently when it disappeared behind the stacks.

Along the center of that wall, a strip of dried window caulking had fallen out, allowing water to seep into the piles of papers beneath. I lifted the soggy, pulpy mass, to find a flourishing colony of portabella mushrooms.

Almost everywhere I dug, I found an inexplicably large number of socks. None of them matched. None of them even appeared to be mine. Had I stumbled upon the answer to one of the great cosmic mysteries?

I was too tired to care. It was almost midnight. I tossed a wrinkled argyle over my should. It landed on the tile floor, which was seeing daylight for the first time in over a decade.

I grabbed my fedora, closed the door behind me, and walked down the hall, past rows of cardboard file boxes I had spent the day filling.

In the tradition of the great archeologists, (i.e.- Indiana Jones), I walked out into the night in search of whiskey and intriguing women; an act that simply proves a long-held belief of mine: "A Tidy Desk Is The Devils Playground".