Spring cleaning is in the air, and here at the Southeast Missourian we're getting into the spirit.

We're about to begin an office contest called "Lost in Space," where all employees will pit the cleanliness of their desks against that of newspaper publisher Jon Rust.

Each day of the contest, Rust will pick one desk at random for an examination.

If the employee happens to have a cleaner desk than that of the boss, he or she gets the tidy sum of $20 on the spot. If Rust's desk is noticeably cleaner, he keeps his money. And if the comparison is close enough to merit discussion, the decision is made by a third-party group.

For the last two weeks, tidying up has been the name of the game. One inspired reporter even brought in a bottle of Pine-Sol to provide an extra shine.

But looking around the newsroom today, I feel pretty confident at Rust's chances.

Several months ago we moved into spanking new renovated offices with fluorescent-colored walls, clean cubicle dividers and stage-quality lighting. Let's just say the office already looks thoroughly "lived in."

Some of us just can't seem to keep our cubicles sparkling.

I'll freely admit to being one of the worst offenders.

The papers, soda cans and notepads layered on my desk are in the early stages of geological stratification. My work area looks less like a desk and more like a compost heap.

And thanks to the new brightness of our overhead lighting system, everything is amplified. You can now pick out that brown coffee-stained ring by my computer from halfway across the office.

I don't stand a chance in this contest.

But part of this mess, I've decided, isn't my fault.

The detritus of news gathering is hard to keep under control. We're bombarded with business cards, news releases and brochures all day long. After a while the stuff just takes on a life of its own.

Besides, newspapermen and women are slobs for good reason.

We just can't afford to look much like our well-groomed colleagues on the television side. That's how we keep our edge.

The rumple-suited, moth-bitten print reporter is one of the oldest stereotypes in the book.

Our role is to be the ones with the devil in our eyes and disorder on our desks. How else are we supposed to scare the politicians and bureaucrats?

The sloppiness tells the movers and the shakers we have nothing to lose.

A reporter with a clean and comfortable look is probably a reporter who has gotten too close to the posh and the powerful.

Thinking about all this, I was almost ready to protest the company contest. "Why should we keep our desks clean?" I thought to myself.

But the other day I started to change my tune. I was looking for the phone number of a source for a story. I had written it down months ago on a scrap of paper, and it had since been lost beneath mounds of clutter.

I tore through the junk on my desk and wasted 10 minutes in the stupid search. This waste of time isn't unusual in my world. If I could only keep my notebooks in order and file my papers based on subject, I could probably save about 30 minutes each day.

So I've decided to go ahead and give the clean life a try, but I've got a suspicion some slobs might be beyond reform.

TJ Greaney is a reporter for the Southeast Missourian.