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Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
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A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
All evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, Beverly felt confident that the father of the modern-day office cubicle was not certifiably sadistic, but merely misguided; had he the inclination to visit a typical workplace to survey the fruits of his brainchild, she thought, she would happily share an afternoon with him, hunkered down inside the aquamarine fabric walls, unwilling audience to phone conversations so jarring and loud they could only logically originate from war zones.
They assured Jenna that in a few months, it would get very busy at the agency, and she would be in charge of many complicated and important projects, and then they ushered her to a cubicle and explained that she would conduct her own orientation for the next month or two by combing through the shared drive for random memos, templates, and written procedures.
I could make a list of many thing that I hope you never have to do at the office; listening to your boss discuss on the phone with his son said son’s diagnosis with the same type of cancer that said boss had 10 years ago would be near the top.
It could be a factory line.
The flamethrower glowed red and white as it sprayed mayhem and pain across the row of cubicles and Miss Jane screamed defiantly into the rampaging fire “NO, I don’t mind being your admin girl, I hope you appreciate my technique!”
When you really think about it, there aren’t any differences between an office cubicle and a bathroom stall.
The most challenging aspect of Emily’s job was in constantly tamping down the knowledge of how screamingly pointless her daily work was.
On long, lonely days in the cubicle, with virtually no human interaction, Muriel’s headache seemed a little like a visitor who cared enough to stop by and see her - like it would be a shame to chase it away with aspirin before it had had a chance for a nice long stay.
The loud cubicle neighbors are arguing some of the finer points of ‘Star Trek’ folklore; for the first time, I wish I was already well-acquainted, so I could join right in.
The elite workers who have window cubicles are never in on Friday afternoons.
Sure, sure, they knew they worked in a rat-race and that their cubicles were nothing more than rat-holes, but did the powers that be really need to turn the entrance into the building into an actual rat maze?
“Vapid entity” and “unmitigated farce”.
Post holidays, all you really want is some nice fried eggs (and another holiday).
“If we traded bodies, like in that movie,” said the 10-year old child to her mother, “you could have my superpower of playing piano tunes in any key, an’ I could have your superpower of being able to sit inside a cubicle.”
You know your office has budgetary issues when you ask to replace your computer mouse - not a fancy ergonomically-correct chair or anything, dammit, just a mouse! - and the supply girl carefully unlocks her cabinet, looks forlornly into the empty space, then offers to go scrounging through semi-abandoned cubicles for a used replacement for you.
The new, mirrored photo frame on Madeline’s desk enabled her to see what fresh hell was sneaking up on her.
“Hey, Tammy, you know that thing you were so keen about - you know the thing, we mocked you about it for days - yeah, can you present something to the staff about it?”
It doesn’t count, so it can just go and get stuffed.
As the outgoing notices piled up on Jean’s desk, she kidded herself one more day wouldn’t really matter.
*Advanced Notice of Death
My body may be caught in this bland, bland place, but my mind has been set free and is roaming.
In a manner reminiscent of Soylent Green, the workers drolled their way into the maw of the stark, grey building.
After staying a bit too long in a job that had demoralised her, brung low her sense of self-esteem and worn her out in the face of even reasonable criticism, Tammy wondered just how the hell she was then meant to go out and sell herself to potential new employers.
Apparently, disembowelling people at a meeting is, to say the least, mildly frowned upon.
I have no idea what the guy in the cube over the wall looks like, after four days.
When a new cubicle inhabitant moves in, cubicle neighbours should drop by with fresh baked goods to welcome them to their cubiclehood.
“Farting In My Cubicle:” all the embarrassing moments from work people send in in 250 words or less.
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