Taras came to work at the office, but his coworkers misunderstood the “AVAILABLE DESK” sign on his table as an announcement that Taras himself was available. He chose an unreserved desk by the window, set down his laptop, and moved the sign to one side so it would not be in the way. From the corridor, only the large word “AVAILABLE” could be seen.

A colleague from sales approached first and asked him to quickly review a presentation. Taras pointed at the sign and explained that it referred to the desk. She nodded, left the presentation with him, and said, “Great, whenever you have a minute.” Next came an accountant with a spreadsheet, then a designer with three shades of blue distinguished mainly by the designer’s confidence. Each time, Taras laid the sign flat, but an office attendant passing by politely stood it up again: hot-desk rules required the workstation status to remain clearly visible.

By lunchtime, a tidy queue had formed beside the desk. Taras turned the sign toward the window, but people assumed they were supposed to approach from the other side. He hid it in a drawer, and ten minutes later received a message from the office administrator asking him not to conceal official signage. Taras sighed, took the sign back out, and opened his calendar.

The following Wednesday, he placed “AVAILABLE DESK” squarely in the middle of the table and added a sheet beside it: “Available Taras: 3:00–4:00.” His coworkers wrote their names on a short list and came one at a time. At four, Taras removed both signs, moved to the reserved desk next door, and quietly finished his coffee. The question hour became a weekly fixture, and for the rest of the day he was officially busy—at last, something written in the office could be trusted.