Last week, someone placed a huge box in front of the front door of our office. It stood there for a few days before I asked the question: "O.K., who's office is this now?" It's one of those perfect boxes, large enough to hold a person and some belongings and sturdy enough to place under any bridge in New York if I ever became homeless.

I share space with another company, a fast-growing one. About 40 of us now share one bathroom, a handful of parking spaces, and an 1,800-square-foot office. The rest of the building is a warehouse. Parking is a major problem, and from time to time, we have come close to killing each other. We are like hamsters in a cage, gingerly avoiding confrontation. So far, everyone is still in the "startup" mode, and goodwill still wins out over the urge to scream. But frankly, if we don't find a new place soon, things may get a bit dicey.

The warehouse operation, a supplier of metal parts, is loads of fun. Our conference room often feels like Los Angeles during an earthquake as the giant metal press machine adjacent to the room lets out an incessant pounding, rattling the wall and glass shelves against it. It surprises the clients and pretty much drives us nuts, but we have no choice. And from time to time, the propane that the workers use to power their lifts and small trucks seeps through the walls, giving us a pretty good buzz. Two of the principals of the other company are now using the conference room as their office, having long since yielded their space to new employees. I wouldn't be surprised if someone claimed the bathroom next.

Things are always changing here. Each week, like stagehands working a Broadway show, we move furniture just to take advantage of another square inch. Every two weeks or so visitors are treated to a new reception area. There is no receptionist because there is no room. Two women executives now occupy the front space, and it's always interesting to watch how some visitors assume that the "ladies" are the receptionists. They are corrected, in short order, but the UPS and FedEx guys have a hard time retaining that information from day to day.

I started my business in a small room behind my garage. Before that, I was an employee of a huge company. I had an office and outside desk space. For some reason, I don't seem to mind these close quarters very much, thinking all the time that these are the dues one must pay in pursuit of something loftier.

We are now aggressively looking for larger space -- much larger. It will be a relief to be able to stretch out a bit more and have ample room for employees and growth. But I have a fear that the incredible energy we produce in this tiny office, borne partly by everyone sharing equally in the burden of close quarters, may disappear in larger ones. Rank will undoubtedly coincide with the size, shape, and location of one's office. And before we know it, we may start resembling that huge company I once worked for. I would hate to see that happen. Maybe I'll save the giant box and bring it along, just as a reminder.

George Giokas is the president and CEO of StaffWriters Plus, a specialty agency that places writers in temporary and permanent positions with corporate and other employers. It also provides editorial consulting work. His database includes 2,500 writers and editors specializing in more than 60 categories. His Web site is located at www.staffwriters.com, and you can E-mail him at george@staffwriters.com.