Posts Tagged ‘cubicle’

Open Letter To A Cubicle Worker Under Siege

May 29, 2011

Corporate Druid

I received a cry for help in my Gmail the other day from one of my readers. From what I can tell, this person is a cubicle worker under siege and that he or she had surmised from my bio that I would be somehow qualified to help. Feeling duty-bound to the believers of my mythology, I present both sides of the correspondence, in hopes that in helping this reader, I may also help all my readers (love you both!).

Dear Gaytheist—

Some strange things have been happening at my place of work and your perspective is direly needed. This all started about 8 months ago. Sounds, random, loud, unbridled began emanating from behind soft, fuzzy, fabric walls of my cubicle. One could be described as uncomfortable laughter – like in a Krusty the Clown sort of way.  It’s up then down then up then down.  It’s a laugh that says “Yes I’m a little crazy and I’ll laugh at anything”.   (more…)

Help Yourself!

October 2, 2010

How could you resist?

Somewhere in Cubicle America ™, in a ten-by-ten dead end of a rat maze for the rat race, there is a kitchenette.  In that kitchenette stands a bi-level refrigerator/freezer.  Like a drowsy elder statesman, the refrigerator is prone to rattling, growling white noise filibusters interrupted by startling silences. On the nearby countertop are two heavy-duty, brushed aluminum microwaves; one works, but it’s a nuclear laboratory disguised as an appliance.  It reeks of the splatter of a hundred lunches repeatedly recooked to the point of quantum reconfiguration. One day, the successor to the human race will emerge from that microwave. The other microwave has been broken for two months now.  It sits smugly in the cobra coils of its own electric cord, mocking all would-be poppers of popcorn with its patent uselessness.   There’s a coffee machine that combines the craftsmanship of a give-a-shit barista with the charm of a Chinese water torture machine.  The coffee machine’s ever present puddle buddy perilously lies in wait on the floor nearby like a goon looking to finish what the coffee machine started.  There is a sink.  Its drain trap is filled with debris and chunkage of an indeterminate origin. An inch of grey water gussied up in a filmy veil of pearlescent handsoap stands stagnant in that sink, emanating eternal ennui.  A rainbow of scattered post-it notes decorates the room, giving it the festive flair of a passive-aggressive surprise party.  Surprise!  “This is your home five days a week!  Keep it clean!” Surprise! “Did you enjoy that last cup of coffee?  Did you know that you’re not the only person who would like a cup, too?  Remake after you take!” Surprise! “Im broke!  Fix me!” (more…)