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Tuesday, July 24, 2007

It turns out that a cube can't contain flatulence.

Due to a series of building upgrades, I now find myself in my fifth different work location of the past five months. The current work area is a fucking cube farm and this pisses me off to no end. I'm sure many of you may be used to these conditions, but when you are used to having an office, albeit a very small one, with a door, it's tough to get used to a cube.

The shelving and the work surface is more than adequate, but I am having a hard time getting used to the fact that I could be here, writing a piece of shit post or comment on some other blog, or actually doing real work, and some asshole could be standing at the opening to my cube, making observations about me. How are you going to say that I'm not doing what I'm supposed to? Don't just sneak up behind me making sweeping statements about me being a 'jerk-off' or 'time-waster' -- you have no frame of reference here, mister or misses Bossman. You don't walk into the sex scene in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and assume that the whole movie is a porno, do you? I'm just a young man living.

If I have to spend the next two months working in this shitty diorama of an office, set up so that anyone can sneak up behind me and scare the living shit out of me, so it's time for some rules.

1. All supervisors must wear chains attached to their ankles lined with jingle-bells.
This would give adequate warning for everyone to be on alert for answering questions related to recent accomplishments, current and upcoming projects, and outside-work endeavors that supervisors identify with them and bring up in hopes of being perceived as 'friendly', even though 'creepy' is more often than not the best way to describe them.

2. Do not, under any circumstances, swivel your head around when walking through a set of cube stalls.

We all love those Budweiser ads around Christmas with the Clydesdales leading a sleigh somewhere. It's comforting. It makes you think of good holiday spirit. It makes you think of when you used to say to your family and visiting relatives that you were going to go upstairs and read for a while, but were really going up to masturbate to pictures of Erika Eleniak in the Playboy under your mattress. Those Clydesdales have blinders on, and you should too, coworker. Nobody wants you peering into their diorama, even for a second. If you want to get my attention, either email me or call me telling me you want to discuss something, or announce your presence before you can actually see me. Like when you're around the corner or some shit.

The ideal supervisory hire would be a Clydesdale, as it would have no issue with following both rules.

I shall do my best to keep posting as often as I would like, but until I move back to my regular office it's going to be a bit tricky. I may have to resort to writing after I get home, but this could get in the way of my drinking, sports watching, and fuck making. What would be ideal would be for others here to step up and help promote post freshness. Especially those of us who don't have full-time jobs this Summer.

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  • At 2:55 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Hey buddy! Nice blog that you maintain here.. I just chanced upon your blog surfing the blogosphere. I was thinking.. you could try out some interesting widgets on your page and spice it up with some great pictures. E.g try out the poster widget on with your relevant keywords. It has some of the best images i have ever seen.

  • At 3:33 PM, Anonymous Milton said…

    Did they at least let you keep your red swingline??


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