Before the agency I work for moved to Hollywood, it was run out of a little house near Venice Beach. We all worked in the garage, Bowie on repeat, door raised half-mast on sunny days. The shanty was not only the office, but also a second home. We had to restock our own toilet paper, wash our own dishes. Candles, matches and air freshener were continually stocked in an attempt to make the bathroom smell work-place appropriate. Everyone's bikes stood lined up against one wall, ready and waiting for impromptu afternoon rides around the block.
Each employee had a potted plant to call their own. The joke was that the owner of the first dead plant would be fired. When the mood struck and the work load was light(er-ish), we'd go on a grocery run and fire up the grill for an ad-lib barbecue lunch. On an intern's last day, it was ritual to shotgun a beer with one of the partners out on the sidewalk. We had earthquake/tsunami drills that ended at the designated safe zone meeting location (a local bar).
We looked out for each other. A buddy system made sure we were safe on nights when we parked a little too far for comfort. On rainy days we caught roof leaks in buckets on our desks, and stains of table rust on the tops of our knees. We dodged black widows hiding in the storage closet, and crazy Venice vagrants/neighbors on the street.
Office culture can't be manufactured. It arises organically from a combination of people, places and circumstances. It's the small, day to day occurrences that comprise culture, not the big, planned occasions.
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