Dangers of the cubicle farm
It has quite literally been a decade by my estimation since I last worked in a cubicle farm. Actually, now that I think about it more, I have only ever worked in a cubicle farm in my first job, so to find myself in a cubicle farm now is one of those 'it's making me a better person' moments.
You all know what I mean by cubicle farm - a converted open space, now randomly separated by half faux walls always covered in that strange carpet like substance (because walls are regularly carpetted) set out in work station cubes for 4 people who then spend the majority of their day pretending not to listen into every personal conversation you have, or standing up to peer over the faux wall to engage in casual chit chat.
The cubicle farm breeds contempt, from personal experience. There will always be one person in the farm who has a diet which comprises solely of foods soaked in fish sauce making the farm smell like rank shoes for hours; there will always be one person who likes to listen to a Disco Diva Dancing for Dummies style medley or a crap commercial radio station with those hosts who punctuate attempted humour with a bull horn; there will always be one who is going through enough personal conflict to qualify for their own cable show and who will want to bore someone senseless with the details about their latest drama with bank/boyfriend/parent/child/postman; there will always be one person whose personal hygiene is questionable in that they will either be haphazard with soap or will wear aftershave/perfume that smells like cheap air freshner. And there will always be one that regards the captive masses as their private stage so will enter stage left (generally late) and say to their colleagues/fans "you'll never guess what just happened..." which will distract the rest of the farm from their professional subsistence.
The cubicle farm in which I am currently resting my pen caddy meets all the above, except for the music sadly. Even if I had a bit of All Saints or Robbie Williams (local reference, not personal choice) to drown out most of the convos I wouldn't have such an overwhelming desire to scream "NO! DO NOT SPEAK!" so regularly to some.
Some of the people with whom I work are hilarious, smart, and just generally bang on the money in terms of people I like working with. And others? Well they would get a seat on the bus.
To explain more fully, after Princess Diana died my partner and I decided that in terms of ways to die, it's not all that bad. You know, few drinks, nice meal, quick trip around Paris... all in all a better death than say drinking the kool-aid or having the bejesus bombed out of you. So, we decided that if we had the chance, we'd rent a stretch limo, book a table at the Ritz and then invite some of the more trying characters in our life to Paris for the weekend. By the time we'd finished our list of "trying characters" our stretch limo had changed to soccer mom van to mini van to super tourer, and the meal had changed from sit down meal to buffet somewhere, to pizza on the bus. Even with the potential for 42 seated and 16 standing on our bus, we still argued about maximum capacity and would rotate people down towards the driver the more they annoyed us. None the less, it always provided an amusing in-joke when we would say quietly to each other if confronted by an idiot "on the bus".
And so, I now find myself working with someone I can only describe as perfectly in line for the role of bus conductor.
The job itself isn't actually bad, it's just the running monologue about nothing that's making me want to say "bit of shoosh..." or alternatively "I will give you cash, right now, to not speak for 2 hours."
I keep reminding myself I'm actually not here to work, but am here to travel. So, I'll keep thinking about my upcoming trips to Glasgow and Edinburgh to get me through this current patch I guess!
Our office Christmas party is in a few weeks. I'm undecided if I should go. My mental filter of "do not say that" becomes somewhat impaired after a few drinks, although it could make it dinner and a show for innocent bystanders!
You all know what I mean by cubicle farm - a converted open space, now randomly separated by half faux walls always covered in that strange carpet like substance (because walls are regularly carpetted) set out in work station cubes for 4 people who then spend the majority of their day pretending not to listen into every personal conversation you have, or standing up to peer over the faux wall to engage in casual chit chat.
The cubicle farm breeds contempt, from personal experience. There will always be one person in the farm who has a diet which comprises solely of foods soaked in fish sauce making the farm smell like rank shoes for hours; there will always be one person who likes to listen to a Disco Diva Dancing for Dummies style medley or a crap commercial radio station with those hosts who punctuate attempted humour with a bull horn; there will always be one who is going through enough personal conflict to qualify for their own cable show and who will want to bore someone senseless with the details about their latest drama with bank/boyfriend/parent/child/postman; there will always be one person whose personal hygiene is questionable in that they will either be haphazard with soap or will wear aftershave/perfume that smells like cheap air freshner. And there will always be one that regards the captive masses as their private stage so will enter stage left (generally late) and say to their colleagues/fans "you'll never guess what just happened..." which will distract the rest of the farm from their professional subsistence.
The cubicle farm in which I am currently resting my pen caddy meets all the above, except for the music sadly. Even if I had a bit of All Saints or Robbie Williams (local reference, not personal choice) to drown out most of the convos I wouldn't have such an overwhelming desire to scream "NO! DO NOT SPEAK!" so regularly to some.
Some of the people with whom I work are hilarious, smart, and just generally bang on the money in terms of people I like working with. And others? Well they would get a seat on the bus.
To explain more fully, after Princess Diana died my partner and I decided that in terms of ways to die, it's not all that bad. You know, few drinks, nice meal, quick trip around Paris... all in all a better death than say drinking the kool-aid or having the bejesus bombed out of you. So, we decided that if we had the chance, we'd rent a stretch limo, book a table at the Ritz and then invite some of the more trying characters in our life to Paris for the weekend. By the time we'd finished our list of "trying characters" our stretch limo had changed to soccer mom van to mini van to super tourer, and the meal had changed from sit down meal to buffet somewhere, to pizza on the bus. Even with the potential for 42 seated and 16 standing on our bus, we still argued about maximum capacity and would rotate people down towards the driver the more they annoyed us. None the less, it always provided an amusing in-joke when we would say quietly to each other if confronted by an idiot "on the bus".
And so, I now find myself working with someone I can only describe as perfectly in line for the role of bus conductor.
The job itself isn't actually bad, it's just the running monologue about nothing that's making me want to say "bit of shoosh..." or alternatively "I will give you cash, right now, to not speak for 2 hours."
I keep reminding myself I'm actually not here to work, but am here to travel. So, I'll keep thinking about my upcoming trips to Glasgow and Edinburgh to get me through this current patch I guess!
Our office Christmas party is in a few weeks. I'm undecided if I should go. My mental filter of "do not say that" becomes somewhat impaired after a few drinks, although it could make it dinner and a show for innocent bystanders!
