The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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cubicle deathmatch
another frog
seperis
Two of the four units of the OO are being moved into a set of rooms once used for file cabinets. They are the shape, size, and general feeling of file rooms—small, dark, and very, very depressing. Basically, as we all know, that is where you send information to die, die, die.

I’d like to say that the remodeling going on to add cubicles to the rooms is making them bright, cheerful, and a happier place to work. I’d like to say that, and I could, even though the lie is astronomical and the rooms remind me faintly of some kind of modern day gas chamber.

It doesn’t help that both rooms have easy-to-lock doors and only one contains windows. That are now blocked. By cubicle walls. I’m not saying the state is going to kill us or anything, but it does make you wonder when you walk in there if you are ever, ever, ever coming back out again.

I have explained I live in the Great City of Cubicles, stretching far and yonder as the eye can see, in which we, tiny gophers in the tapestry of officedom, occasionally poke our heads out or, if you are me, throw things into the cubicle beside you and play innocent, just because you’re that bored. It took a while, but I finally managed to establish enough of a reputation for hyperactivity and poor impulse control that few, if any, of my coworkers look at me askance. Though there is often a deep sigh accompanied by a sad roll of eyes. Ah yes, Jenn. How we wish she’d take more sick leave.

I like being me sometimes.

The new cubicles in the Rooms Formerly Known As The File Rooms are best described as stalls. My tiny cubicle now resembles a small mountain palace, spacious and graciously appointed, because oh my God, who authorized those tiny things and why in the name of God do they think anyone will be able to work in there and not try to hang themselves from the light fixtures? The walls are also extremely high, unlike our current, which are about six feet or so (easy jenn-looks-over-to-see-what-people-are-doing-height) and closing on seven feet, not nearly as leanable and pretty much the epitome of Reason Six I Will Go Home and Bond With Something Sharp As I Become Disgruntled. Reasons one through five include clients that believe we are actually wizards capable of waving our keyboards and making the universe right.

No, seriously.

Anyway, deathmatch. Getting hold of the new cubicle assignments, I was relieved to note that I won’t be moving into the Place That Time Forgot, but rather, a cubicle over. It’s an improvement in real estate that I like, but unfortunately my supervisor is moving into mine, which puts me far too much in his immediate activity area. There are many reasons that every office I have ever had is as far from the supervisor as possible. There are just some things that you know he shouldn’t see. Like perhaps, your left-handed writing exercises. However, I will persevere, but I’m not so sure about my unit, who look both disgruntled and faintly appalled, eyes wide and fairly shell-shocked, because I just don’t think they quite get yet that seriously, yeah, those cubicles the size of the average shower are going to be theirs and they will be expected to work in them.

Also, the bathrooms are now an epic journey away. This should be an intersting few weeks.

Ah, the cubicle, the work space designed for efficiency, space planning, and sucking away your soul. I'm glad you aren't in the file room. I truly don't know how employers expect people to be productive when their spirits are crushed.

And, hey, back when I used to work in a cubicleville of my own, I used to throw things into the next cube, too. :)

*eyes you* did the frog make you comment? no? just me? okay.

*slinks away*

Hee! I am not the frog fiend like you are! I did think of you the other day, though, when I was looking at socks and there was a pair with a band of cute little frogs around the ankle. :)

You only thought of me that ONCE? When you looked at your SOCKS? *sniffles*

*bounces and licks you*

LOL. *thwaps you with a pillow* First off, they weren't MY socks. I don't have socks with frogs on them. They were socks in a store that I saw out of the corner of my eye and then had to go look at because of you. Secondly, I think of you often in non-sock-related moments. Even in non-frog-related moments! So there. :P

*waves hi to Jenn*

Oh, well, that's okay then. *beams at you*

*waves to Jenn and runs away giggling*

I have nothing of actual use to say. Except the ICON made me comment.

... that is all. Go on about your business.

Ah, cubicles, the #1 implement on the list of soul crashing.

http://www.metrolyrics.com/lyrics/36907/Sesame_Street/It's_A_Long,_Hard_Climb
Sesame street lyrics.

Jenn, you absolutely have to write a novel of misadventures some day. Granted, these are deplorable working conditions, but you describe them so elequently, I want to see pictures.