Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Wednesday, 10/22/14
I sent out 44 individual emails today. One day: 44 emails. That, my friends, is too much.

@theartofmadeline
Xuebing Du


PR's Tumblrdome

oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

â
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
noise dept.
wallacepolsom

if i look back, i am lost
$LAYYYTER
Sweet Seals For You, Always
đŞź
One Nice Bug Per Day
YOU ARE THE REASON

çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation

izzy's playlists!
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from Croatia

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Kenya
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
@writersbloqueblog
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Wednesday, 10/22/14
I sent out 44 individual emails today. One day: 44 emails. That, my friends, is too much.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Tuesday, 10/14/14
I often worry about what it means to be a woman in the workplace. Women who know what they want and get to the point are usually perceived as evil bitches; while women who are kind and cooperative are deemed matronly, get walked all over. And then thereâs the whole period thing. If a man is having a bad day, no one is alarmed or probably even notices; but if a woman fails to smile at you in the hallway, she surely has to be menstruating. If you assume a woman is on her monthly cycle, please keep this assumption to yourself. Sometimes we ladies are just in a bad mood.
I will admit, however, when I am in the midst of the raging hormones, exhaustion, cramping and headaches, I have indulged in a desk cry or two. This is always a risky way to release your emotions, because someone could catch you. I was caught once, but luckily I had pungent flowers at my desk and blamed âallergiesâ for my red eyes and patchy skin. The desk cry doesnât usually last too long, but is a needed release for when someone emails you a nasty response to an innocent question you had as a new employee. But I digress.
Several months ago, I was going through a stressful work project. I was assigned (against my will) to assist another writer in our group. Weâll call this other writer Ninja, mostly because this person never showed up to work, but never seemed to get in trouble for it either. So, while helping Ninja, I realized I couldnât help Ninja, because I had no idea what Ninja did. âWhy didnât you just ask Ninja?â you ask appropriately. Well, please refer to the sentence where Ninja never showed up to work. This was an endless cycle of stress in my life, and finally I knew I had to take things to our director. I set up the meeting, and spent the whole time leading up to the meeting pumping myself up not to cry in front of the director, who, also is a woman in the workplace. If I cried in front of my strong, capable, role-model woman director, all would be lost. She would know that I donât have what it takes, and send me away forever. As a last minute change of events, the director decided to change the location of our meeting. Instead of meeting privately in her office, where if a tear or two escaped the borders of my eyelids would be slightly more acceptable, she wanted to meet in an open lobby by the lunchroom. At 1:00. More pep-talk, donât you dare cry.
I went down to meet with my director, and immediately she asked why I wanted to meet. I started crying. But in an extremely shocking turn of events, she also started crying. There we were, sitting in public place, talking and crying, being stereotypical women in the workplace. Nightmare. However, the meeting ended well, and I knew that she would take care of my stressful situation. But little did I know that I opened a can of worms.
A few months later, the project I was working on was complete. My director was very happy that this was something that could be achieved and decided to present me with an award. Instead of expressing her appreciation in a quiet and humbling way, she decided to single me out in a department meeting to present me with this honor. She started talking about the project, and could not finish because she had started crying. She threw the certificate at me, as if to pass the speaking responsibilities to me as well. I took the piece of paper and expressed my thankfulness, but then just sat there in silence. I think she was expecting me to also cry so that we could recreate the public humiliation we had once shared. It was kind of like that awkward moment when someone says âI love youâ and you donât want to say it back. The only difference was that I couldnât just fake a quick little cry to appease her in that moment. An eternity later, the meeting ended. Shortly after that, we hired a new manager who we would report to instead of the director. I was relieved that I could start over on a non-crying leaf with this new manager.
So now in present day, we are having performance reviews. This is usually an exciting time for us as lower food chain employees. A prospect of getting a raise is so exciting. What will I do with my extra $27 per paycheck? The possibilities are endless. But in the midst of my excitement, I failed to remember that since I had reported to the director for most of the year, she would be doing my performance review. It seems like I would be excited. She recognized me for a job well done, right? But as a woman in the workplace, I used my witch powers of premonition. I knew that the conditions would be perfect for her to squeeze in another cry session. And boy, were they ever. Moments after the review began, I could see her face turning the slightest shade of pink. Were her eyes watering? No, it was just a little humid in there, right? Oh wait, oh nope, it was happening. I tried to sit there as respectfully as I could. I did not engage in her cry party. I did, however, in my awkwardness decide that laughing would be the best response to her raw emotion. Iâm a heartless, evil bitch. But what would you do if someone, in regards to processing useless documents referred to you as âbraveâ? It was hilarious.
Iâm just looking forward to a day where we are all preprogramed, genderless androids that fulfill specific roles in society. No one will think twice if AI-454902496 suddenly excuses itself to take care of an oil leak mid-shift.
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Monday, 10/13/14
Like many companies in corporate America, our office has an instant messaging system. While this is very useful, and a great way to chat between friends, without being obvious that youâre avoiding work, the range of emoticons is questionable.Â
There are, of course, the classic faces: happy, sad, angry, yawn, etc. Then we have the random images: thundercloud, coffee cup, flower, wilted flower, webcam, and others that tend to get used in a random office emoji war.Â
Then it gets a little weird, we have a set for just animals: cat, dog, snail, sheep. Snail I can almost understand, maybe someoneâs working slowly. But sheep? Whatâs that for? Who uses that and in what context?
Finally, we come to my favorite set of emojiâs, the ânever appropriate for office lifeâ set: kiss lips, martini glass, beer, heart, and broken heart. Iâm assuming that these are the standard emojiâs that come in a multitude of programs. However, I like to pretend that somewhere out there, in their panoramic view office, is lonely corporate director, sending someone: smiley face, flower, heart, kiss, winky face, cocktail. Eventually leading to: sad face, wilted flower, broken heart, crying face, thunder cloud. Hopefully never turning to: angry face, broken heart, web cam, car. It could happen, people are crazy. We have a theory that working in a corporate place long enough will turn you crazy. Is it inevitable? Do I still have time to get out? Frantic Face Emoji.Â
Regardless, emojis are a great office tool. Smiley face, so I donât sound too mean. Emoji story to my cube friend while Iâm waiting on emails. Sheep emoji, just because. Emoji that represents someone we want to talk about without them knowing. I would recommend trying to fit emojiâs into your office life, it makes the cubicle life so much better.
P.S. Can we please get a poop emoji, nothing is ever more relevant.
<3
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Friday, 10/10/14
It looks like today is going to be a day of tech writer go fetch.
I am certain this is not a condition unique to tech writers. It is likely something that happens to all of us mucking through the corporate bog and working at the end of the line. With less time than everyone else on the team you embark on your part of the relay race to product launch partially blinded and with an impossible time limitation. When you are about to cross the finish line, in fact when you say, âHey all, we've been through two rounds of review and edits, I've implemented all your feedback, so Iâm finalizing the document and will have it out by the end of the day,â middle manager X says, âActually I just completed my review and I have a few questions.â
MMX (Middle Manager X) just wants to make you go fetch and see how far you can run and how much you will take in order to meet the deadline.
***
MMX: Where did this new information come from?
Me: There is no new information in the document, just new formatting.
MMX: I need to see some kind of proof about where this information came from.
Me: That information is in all other documents like this. We started using this information in documents in 2005. It not new.
MMX: Well I need to see those other documents to support this new information.
Me: Ok here are the numbers for those documents. You can pull them right off of the server.
MMX: Reading online is hard. Print them out and bring them to me. (Go Fetch!)
***
MMX: What is this issue about? I didnât read the emails Iâve been receiving about this issue.
Me: Oh, well, itâs kind of difficult to summarize because there was a lot of discussion.
MMX: Can you please just summarize? (i.e., Can you please send me an email about the emails you sent meâŚGo Fetch!)
***
Me: OK, so based on your feedback I think we can just remove this text. It was not necessary anyway.
MMX: I like this new text, though.
Me: Ok, so maybe Iâm misunderstanding what youâre asking me for.
MMX: Well the new text is confusing so it shouldnât really be there.
Me: Oh, ok. So I think the solution here would be to take that part out.
MMX: No I like the new text. Set up a meeting with everyone to discuss this.
Me: What are we discussing?
MMX: What to do about the text (Set up the meeting, MMX walks into the meeting and immediately says, âI think this text needs to be removed. Itâs confusing.â Everyone agrees with him even though they already approved the previous change. I change the documents and now weâre back in reviews.âŚ.Go Fetch!)
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Thursday, 10/09/14
One of the great things our company does is provide free flu shots to all employees. Well, all full-time employees. Because it makes sense that if you are a temporary worker without any health insurance or paid sick days, you wouldnât be granted the same basic human privileges of vaccination.
Last year was my first time being offered this free flu shot, and I was pretty skeptical. I was always wary of the flu vaccine because I sometime watch the news. What? Youâre putting a little bit of the flu virus inside of me to prevent more of the flu virus? I donât want that in me. But I did some non-wikipedia research and found out that the vaccine doesnât really work like that, and that itâs a pretty safe and harmless procedure. I felt empowered and received my flu shot, felt great, and did not get sick that winter.
So itâs that time of year again, and I received my flu shot (Iâm a veteran now) yesterday. It was quite an experience this year. First of all, I didnât really remember which day it was, and therefore was not planning my outfits properly. The way our company sets up flu shots, is that everyone is in a big lobby, and all the vaccine stations are set up in the middle of the area. There is no privacy what-so-ever, and everyone gets to watch some random stranger in scrubs stab their colleagues. If I would have anticipated that the event was going on that day, I would have made sure to wear a work appropriate sleeveless top + cardigan combination, or some kind of short sleeve number. But alas, I work a long sleeved button down shirt. As I was standing in line for the shot, I was desperately trying to think of ways to still get the shot but not have to take off my long sleeved button down shirt, revealing my skanky tank to the whole finance department. I mean, to my credit, at least I wore this undershirt. I tried rolling up my sleeves as far as they would go. It was pretty far, and I was proud that I found a solution. But then I heard a male nurse scolding a man and growling âI need to get higher on your arm.â I assessed the location of my sleeve and realized my plan would not work.
I went ahead and came to terms with the fact that I would have to remove my outer shirt. When my turn came up, I walked slowly, with my head held high; embracing what would soon come to pass. I sat down with the nurse, and reconfirmed that no, I did not have any diarrhea that day. I slowly unbuttoned a few of my shirt buttons, and slid my bicep out into the open. There it was, my skanky tank, boobs out all over the place. Hello co-workers, this is my body. Of course the nurse was having issues filling up her syringe, it took her approximately 7 minutes to fill it up while I sat there, regally revealing myself. Finally it was all over, and I ran out of the atrium as fast as possible. No flu this yearâŚworth it.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Wednesday, 10/08/14
In my cubicle I often wear headphones.  Sometimes I listen to music and secretly dance in my chair (yes, Iâve been caught before, thanks a lot Tyga!), or I could be listening to a documentary, maybe a podcast. Depending on my project, I might have a lot of free space in my head for entertainment; itâs definitely one of the perks of my job and cube location. However, there are times when I donât have anything blocking out the noises of our office area, and those times are exciting, annoying, and sometimes terrifying.Â
I wish I had explanations for the sounds I hear, but I donât.Â
Thereâs nail clippers, which didnât disgust me until a cube friend told me that they saw them being used on someoneâs toe nails (gag).
I love the long, loud, drawn out, and often inappropriate and misplaced laugh that bursts over my cubicle wall, often followed by an uncomfortable pause for all involved.
Occasionally I can hear someone elseâs music streaming through their headphones, reminding me to check mine the next time I hit play.
On certain Fridays, a group of people play jeopardy, off of those one-a-day calendars. Sometimes itâs rowdy, but on Fridays no one really cares. When I can hear I like to play along in my head. I rarely know the answers.  Iâll never be the next Ken Jennings.
Thereâs loud, angry guy, unafraid to yell at whomever or whatever has offended him. He shocks me with his bold tone, unaware or uncaring of whoâs around him.Â
Whenever someone brings a kid in, thereâs a flock of ladies who turn into complete giddy, inappropriate child snatchers. They make such a fuss itâs beyond irritating.  I feel bad for the kids who are not yet old enough to be left at home, but too old to be offered dusty candy from a lady whose voice is raised three octaves, smiling at them with her head cocked to the side. Â
But my least favorite noise in the office is something that happens every. single. day. Sometime around 1:30, out of the depths of a neighbor cube, comes forth the loudest, wettest, most unapologetic belch. Every. Single. Day. For the people around, it produces gags, wrinkled noses, disgusted sighs, but from the belcher, nothing. No excuses, no apologies, no muffling or shuffling to try and cover it up. Nothing but the belch that comes from deep within their gut, torturing us all. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Tuesday, 10/07/14
My favorite part of any day in my corporate job is my stroll to and from meetings where I get to meander down various aisles and enjoy the not so secret cube of my colleagues. Many cubes are empty or have just enough bits and pieces of a personâs home/work life to remind them that they get to leave their gray padded cell when the clock strikes five. Their cubes simply say, âThis is only a temporary state. I get to rejoin real life soon.â
Some people however, create a cube world filled with fantasy, mystery, fancy and weirdness. It may be their real life. Their cubes hold the key to their alter egos, secrets, hopes and dreams. Some cubes scream, âIâm lonelyâ while others whisper, âIâm the guy thatâs might bring a gun to work.âÂ
My first stop in any cube walk is the homage to the troll doll. This is a piece of corporate Americana that can be found in every office in America. It speaks to my heart and makes me feel connected to everyone stuck in a cube. Per what one might imagine, Trolls are stuck to every single available surface in and on the cube. Each inch of soft, gray cubicle wall is infected writhing plastic tanned bodies with pot bellies and acrylic neon hair. Some trolls have clothes, others are bejeweled, but most are naked as they are intended to be. It is mystifying, disturbing and somewhat inappropriate.
Another cube, usually the second stop on my Monday walk, can also be found in most offices. Itâs the âI Love Disneyâ cube. Instead of naked trolls covering every inch of gray, the cube is lost in Disney paraphernalia: pins, stuffed Mickey, Minnieâs, and Donaldâs, pens and pencils that are only on display and not for use, pictures of the cubeâs inhabitant with each family member and each Disney character, specialty banners and flags, deflated Mylar Mickey balloons, plastic bags, tickets that span 1986 to the present and mickey mouse ear hats with the embroidered name. Itâs exhausting and fascinating like an episode of Hoarders. When a grown adult (with or without children) loves Disneyland that much, their cube says, âIâve given up on life so now I have no life. Disneyland is real!!â
Cube number three of my typical Wednesday meander is one that is over-filled with a motherâs devotion. Pictures of kids and their art work cover every free space of cube. Each item is layered and ordered with construction paper and extra baubles of memorabilia. The cube is actually a scrap book to her children and their trite activities. Even the outside wall of the cube is papered with pictures of the womanâs myriad tots to ensure no one will forget she is a mother. Sadly, the only people that want to see that much of her kids are her and the other two child obsessed weirdos, one of which, doesnât have any children but really likes bath time pics of the young ones.
My all-time favorite type of cube (cubes four through six on the cube walk) is the teeny bopper bedroom themed cube. There are various versions of this, but in each instance you canât remember if youâre at work or you if you wondered into a thirteen-year-oldâs sanctuary. One forty-something cube loves the Jonas brothers, while a fifty-something cube worships the teens on American Idol. There are photographs, autographs, posters and album covers. These are not the cubes of hoarders. The placement of the items is precise and alter-like. Once in a while, they fandom gets a bit crazy and color printouts appear as if the midday urgency of their Jonas love needed the gratification of an inkjet.
I try not to judge as I am a true admirer. What else would entertain and soothe me as I walk to yet another meeting, if not the accidental installation art of my colleagues?
This is a real book on Amazon.com!
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Monday, 10/06/14
I wasnât feeling well last Friday, and I had checked out a laptop from our IS department. Even though I could have made it into work, I knew that the conditions were perfect to try out my dream scenario of working from home; more specifically working from my California King-sized bed. I wanted to recap the pros and cons of my working from home experience, so as to educate anyone who is looking to expand their bedroom into a home office.
Pros: Sleeping In Without the prospect of 1) waking up in order to scrub, brush, conceal, and squeeze myself into pre-sedentary lifestyle clothing in order to make myself somewhat presentable to the working professional scene (and public in general) and 2) taking the long commute looming before me, I knew I could sleep in and not get ready whatsoever in order to make my usual start time for work. These extra two hours would be blissful and welcomed, since as I already mentioned earlier, I wasnât feeling that great.
Cons: Neighborhood noises My sleeping in fantasies were quickly squashed when I was roused by the alligator tears/wailings of my young neighbor girl. Apparently, she doesnât like to wake up early either.
Pros:Â Working in pajamas This was an all-time fantasy, which was everything I thought it would be.
Cons: Paranoid Truman-Syndrome Iâm pretty sure that our IS department has hacked all the laptop webcams and they were all watching me in my pajamas.
Pros: Being at my house all day I was able to accept delivery on an online purchase I had ordered. And by âacceptâ I mean, cower away from any windows until the mailman leaves so I can quickly pop outside and grab the package before anyone sees me in my pajamas and/or steals said package.
Cons: Heat-stroke I donât have A/C in my house, and it was 99 degrees out. Our office is usually blasting the A/C at 65 degrees, which is always why one should store a cube sweater at work.
Pros: My own personal bathroom access Please refer to Thursdayâs blog post about the horrors of the office bathroom etiquette to understand why this is an ideal situation.
Cons: I took about 82 bathroom breaks
Pros: Uniterrupted Productivity I usually am very easily distracted, and I had a very tedious task ahead of me this day. I knew I had to get this project done by the end of the week, and if I were in the office I would be too tempted to take walks with my office buddies, take a long Friday lunch, and generally indulge in regular Friday slacking antics.
Cons: Since I was so productive, I forgot to eat during the day. By 5:00 I was a mess, and had to drag myself out of the house in order to scavenge for food to sustain myself.
In summary, I realize that there are always reasons that coming to the office is good; for my sanity and for my personal hygiene. Iâm glad I was able to try âworking from homeâ out, but as long as I have great office buddies in which to share our horrific and awkward cube-life adventures, itâs not so bad to drag myself in during the week.Â
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Friday, 10/03/14
I have a love/hate relationship with casual Friday. On the one hand, all I want in my office life is to wear flip flops and t-shirts. However, like most things, it comes with a price. For every pair of jeans I pull on I have to see someone in inappropriate casual day attire. Below is a list of felonious outfits worn on casual Fridays:
Thin, tight, white tank top (so tight I could see the outline of her belly ring), with a black bra underneath.
Orange top, with the entire back cut out.
Just a straight up spaghetti strap camisole.
Extremely baggy jeans.
Saggy jeans.
Thin leggings/yoga pants with a short shirt.
Stomach showing (this is also an offensive act on a non-casual day).
90âs style whale tail.Â
Shorty shorts.
A ridiculous amount of cleavage.
Club attire.Â
 Sweatpants Jumpsuit (Velour is out people, I better not see JUICY or anything else written on your butt!).
Wallet chains.
Honestly, the list goes on and on, and I wish I could say itâs the only time working here feels like an episode of The Office.Â
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Thursday, 10/02/14
I thought I was turning into a robot.
When I first started working here I had some sense of communal bathroom etiquette, particularly in reference to the second of the two toilet options. I used to walk into the work bathroom, assess the number of people occupying the stalls and mirrors and then decide whether to carry on with the number two or move it to another bathroom or another time.
I planned my trips around certain known bathroom down times so as not to inconvenience anyone with any unnecessary un-pleasantries. And, if I did have to go, and a colleague was simultaneously using an adjacent stall, the sink or the mirror, I would politely flush occasionally throughout the number two venture in order to hide any smells and sounds that might occur.
This has all changed. Last week I walked into the bathroom to find that blasted tooth brusher taking up sink and counter space. I thought that the more polite option, particularly while someone brushes her teeth, would be to take my number two elsewhere. But I didnât. I continued, almost angrily, as to drown out the smell of her minty saliva.
Yesterday I entered the restroom to be greeted by two women applying their second daily coat of makeup. Again, the polite option was not the one I chose. I carried on with my business regarding the number two and I didnât even attempt my usual courteous flushing routine. I almost smiled as I heard them hurriedly pack up their mascaras and glosses to silently scurry out of the bathroom.
Today the bathroom was teeming with women in suits and heels after some important meeting. All the stalls were full except one, the mirrors were occupied and the sinks were busy. Still, I proceeded undeterred, without hesitation and minus any type of polite flush.
It was there, in the middle of my stink, that I realized something had changed. The bathroom was full and I did not care. I had finally lost all sense of shame. It was both beautiful and tragic as I realized I might be a robot.
Well it was beautiful and tragic for a second until the moment passed and I realized people might recognize me by my bright blue patent leather flats. Terrified, I hung out in the bathroom stall wishing I had brought in my phone with my Kindle app and wondering if anyone could tell who I was. Were they looking at my feet? Should I get up? Should I sit down? What was the most inconspicuous thing I could do while cowering a bathroom stall at work?
I sat on the toilet listening for every last heel to click out of the bathroom. When all I could hear was an adjacent stall shut, I flushed, ran out of the stall, washed my hands and left.
Looks like Iâm not a robot at all.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Wednesday, 10/01/14
For most people today is a normal Wednesday, a hump day, youâre at the half way mark to your overly short weekend. But not for us, not today, because today is Sunnyâs 61st birthday, and sheâs starting off with a bang.Â
After the excitement from her decorated cube and new succulent died down she received a call. It was a wrong number. A simple mistake, most people would just hang up and try again. Now, hereâs where our Wednesday, gets better than most Wednesdays. Sunny doesnât say wrong number and end it, no; she spends her time with this person:
>Hello this is Sunny.
>No, Iâm sorry, you have the wrong number.
>Where are you?
>Oh, across the United States!
>No, no Iâm in San Diego, California.
>Are you calling for this company?
>Hmmm, well you know whatâŚlet me try and transfer youâŚ
 Classic Sunny, you shouldnât offer to transfer someone when you have no clue how to do it. She accidentally hung up on them. But donât worry, because whoever was on the other line must have a little Sunny-ness in them too. They called back.
 >Oh, hello again!
>Yeah, I donât think I did it rightâŚ
>Hold on a minute please.
 Sunny walks over to our cubes:
>Do you guys know the number to the front desk?
No, weâve never transferred anyone, we think itâs xxxx.
>Okay thanks!
 Success and a long 15 minute laugh. Happy Birthday Sunny!
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Tuesday, 9/30/14
Some fun facts about me. I may not be the most awkward person youâve ever had the chance to read about, but please believe that Iâm up there. Iâm married to the best man in the world, and we have a cat named Lady Ronte: Gypsy Cat. Iâm technically a technical writer, but I donât actually write anything while Iâm at my job. Unless you count the massive amounts of emails that need to be sent out, averaging to roughly 1,217,094 per day; and of course, now this blog post. I mention the fact that I donât write anything because it means that someone else is writing content for me, and then I insert it into a special and mysterious program, and out comes a userâs manual. If anyone found out that this magical process actually only required basic knowledge of selecting âEdit>copyâ and âEdit>Pasteâ then I would be out of a job. But since I use my college degree-level skill set of knowing how to use âCtrl + câ and âCtrl + vâ I think I would still be a valuable asset to the company.
Today I was at a meeting with a dude that writes content with me. I use the term âdudeâ purposefully, not in the flippant way that youths use it. He is a dude. He has the upmost of âbroâ qualities, including but not limited to: hipster glasses, surfing hobby, ATV with utility rack, super-hot and exotic wife, and generally bad attitude; and I am 100% sure he thinks Iâm an idiot. He probably thinks I donât know about the secrets of âCtrl + câ and âCtrl + vâ. The whole purpose of the meeting was to collaboratively work with the dude to get new content for a manual. I have been waiting for him to give me edits since June. Please refer to the date of this blogâŚitâs the last day of September. Nevertheless, our meeting consisted of the dude telling me that I couldn't possibly help him, but that he just needed more time to provide me with the content. More time. Great. Meanwhile, halfway through the meeting a normal person joined our meeting and we figured out a timeline that everyone could be happy with. This normal person is a lady who actually believes I have brain cells, so I like her.
As we wrapped up the meeting, we all got up and the normal person turns to the dude and proclaims, âWhoa! Look at that!â then turns to me as if I have any idea what sheâs talking about and therefore can share in her excitement, points to the dudeâs crotch and explains âHe has really fancy pockets!â I can sense that my eyes are shifting down towards where her finger is directingâŚinches from the dudeâs package. I can also sense that everyone in the whole world is watching my eyes descend to a place that is inappropriate to look at in a normal, everyday, non-strip club atmosphere and thus tremendously inappropriate and mortifying in a professional, workplace setting. I actually canât see the pockets because the dude and I are facing each other, and to properly look inside a manâs side pockets one must be standing by said manâs side. I wonât use the term âflankingâ because it would be too much for this situation. Please refer to the image (which is a google image and NOT an actual picture of the dude that I took) and notice the angle at which the cameraperson must have been at.
So there I am, standing there, staring at the dudeâs junk. What a normal person would have done would be to lie about seeing the fancy pockets and say, âOh, interesting.â But since I am mostly awkward I just stood there blushing, still trying to get a glimpse of the fancy pockets even though I had not moved my position. Eventually, I blurted out, âOK, bye!â and left the room.
I donât know why people donât take me seriously.
Chronicles of a Cubicle Life: Monday, 9/29/14
Today I used red and blue sharpies to turn my hand into a little puppet. It had beady eyes and bright red lips. It even had eyebrows and a nose. We walked from friend cube to friend cube trying her out.
âHi cube friend.â
The puppets mouth opened and closed like a fish.
âHi cube friend.â
We laughed each time we performed this silly cinema. Show by show we made our way back to our cubes. This activity burned five to seven minutes out of an eight hour day. Now I have a little face on my hand.
I wonder if this will still be funny after work.