There are private offices but they are separated from the main space with glass. Anybody who designs an office space divided by glass has clearly never returned to work after maternity leave armed with an unmarked black bag full of funnels and tubing.
When I was freelancing after I had Mazzy, I had to pump in a glass office. I took a large piece of foam core and sat it on a chair, leaning up against the glass, so that if anybody walked by, they wouldn't be able to see me hooked up like a cow to a milk machine. Then I locked the door and went about my business.
It's hard to pump while watching the top of people's heads bobbing above a piece of foam core as they pass by, but it's definitely better than giving your co-workers a front row seat to the show.
The show would be called, "Let's Make Breasts Look Unsexier Than You Ever Imagined Possible", just to be clear.
The foam core worked successfully for about four days and then on the fifth day, God said, "LET THE FOAM CORE FALL BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE HILARIOUS!" The board tipped over mid-pumping session but still blocked the bottom half of the window, so I just kind of shimmied off my chair and onto the floor to finish the job.
I pumped in a ton of crazy places after Mazzy. I went on a commercial shoot when Mazzy was four months and had an entire production crew organizing my routine according to when the cameras weren't rolling. You don't know breast pump awkwardness until two 20 year-old guys are coordinating your pumping session over walkie talkies, then appearing to escort you to the back of the hair and make-up trailer and standing outside the front door, like they are denying access to a club, to make sure no one enters.
We were shooting for ten full days and changed our location twice daily. With each new spot, I had to find a new place to pump. I pumped in a coffeeshop bathroom, in strangers' homes, in the production van, behind a rack of wardrobe— you name it.
At my old office, I was given a key to the "lactation room" (fancy language for a a shower stall with a stool), and pumped there two to three times daily. But since I am now freelance, it means everywhere I go, I must find a new home for my favorite past time.
At the place I am working currently, I was given two options.
There's the stairwell, which I was assured nobody ever goes into, but I can almost guarantee if I decided to pump there, that would be the same day there was a small electrical fire, causing everyone to immediately flood the nearest exit that didn't require an elevator. The door would fling open revealing my protracted nipples to an entire office of people all at once.
The other option is a utility closet with no sink that doesn't have a lock. There's a fridge, a copier and a stack of soda cases... you know, in case I decided to clean my pump with Diet Coke and then take a photocopy of it. In my opinion, the only thing worse than a glass wall is a solid wood door with no lock, so there's absolutely no warning before someone mistakenly barges in.
Ultimately, I chose neither.
I went with the women's bathroom, and no, it's not private. The only outlet is on the countertop right when you walk in the door, but at least the people barging in will all be women. Initially, I hung warning signs ("come back in ten minutes or else this will be embarrassing for all parties involved", "topless woman inside and not in a good way", etc.), but after the signs were ignored more than once, I skipped that little attempt at decency too.
At this point, after pumping literally thousands of times in every half hidden spot imaginable, envisioning endless scenarios where my dignity might be compromised, I finally decided the person walking in will be way more horrified than I will.
If that person has a problem, they can go pee in the utility closet between the sodas and the copy machine, right?