I could never have a job that was placed within a cubicle.
I guess when compared to other careers, I would rather sit in a cubicle than say shovel shit, but you know… since I’m not presented with these said options… no need in thinking about them. To me, a cubicle equals torture- why? Because you’re stuck in a gray colored cube, next to other gray colored cubes with another boring person placed in each one.
It’s like a terrible bee hive…where instead of honey, boring marketing tactics are produced… I honestly don’t know what goes on in offices. Well I sorta do, I had the lovely experience of working in one for a half a second. Every waking minute I spent in my loaned cube (as the industry folks like to call it) I wanted to pull my eyeballs out and use them as stress balls. Then again, I was archiving data for a prominent banking company. I reached an all time low, when the highlight of my day was finding an internal memo explaining the new fangled notion of a “bank with no tellers” or what we future people call, ATM machines.
Needless to say I ran screaming from that job.
Currently, I work in several libraries, one of which has a backroom. I usually am able to hide from the crazies and pretend that I’m actually doing work- when in all honesty, I’m kind of plopping around on the Internet. This backroom harks memories of that god awful bank job, because within this dark sanctuary there are five little semi-cubicles, each one containing a computer. Some are reserved for full time employees- who have tried to make them more livable, a picture of a wife here, note about retirement there, but they all virtually look the same- with the exception of one- which resembles a hazardous dumping area. There are two cubicles which are up for grab- one of which the part time staff are constantly jockeying over. As one might have guessed, it’s the furthest from the door and where the boss sits. The majority of the time I find myself rather happy to enjoy a moment of silence in the office- I usually get bored and incredibly A.D.D. My focus begins to flip flop, and I’m stuck with the realization that I’m a boring unimaginative person. This then leads to the crushing discovery that I am also unmotivated… so unmotivated that I sometimes have a hard time procrastinating- which is ridiculous. If I had to spend all 8 hours within a cubicle, I probably wouldn’t get anything done, just sit staring at a blank screen, silently complaining about how boring my job is and how nasty that burrito was at lunch.
Earlier today, I was sitting staring into nothingness, when I got bumped from the golden part-time cubicle. Another part-timer gave me some bullshit reason about needing to use this one specific computer, so I moved to the other more exposed location, because I’m nice person.
I sat and glared at this staff member for a while, then resumed looking into the abyss. Just as I started to contemplate the gross nature of my noontime burrito, I was interrupted by peeps. Yes… the tiny little squeaky noise that emits from baby birds. My hatred of birds runs deep, yet even more so I hate baby birds… they look like boogers, little angry boogers. Now it all changes once they sprout some fluffy feathers, becoming the only stage of bird I can handle and actually enjoy looking at.
After sitting confused for a little bit, it dawned on me that I was in fact situated under a skylight. Since birds are incredibly intellectual beings, this particular seagull had the genius idea of nesting on top of it. As the peeping grew louder my stare into nothingness turned into a panicked thought… seagulls are big and this building is old. Seagulls have never seemed particularly graceful, so it seemed almost likely that when mama came crashing down to her nest, I might be greeted with a flailing bird in my lap along with her hungry angry booger babies trapped and peeping in my hair.
I was horrified.
The thought of raining birds made me leap from my seat and uncontrollably pace around the room. Obviously, it would have to be a seven ton seagull to even crack the plexi- glass skylight, but just the thought of a super-sized giant seagull caused me to freak out even more. I shot my co worker a dirty look as he smugly typed away at the keys happy and safe in the corner of the break room…Dipshit. I picked up some magazines and begrudgedly marched out to the main floor. As I began to actually do work regarding my job- it dawned on me that those damn seagulls had somehow managed to motivate my work ethic and invigorate my imagination.
“Nasty-ass boogery bastards” I thought to myself as I placed a magazine on the rack.