Now -- before you laugh at me, and gloat about how your life is sooooo much better because you DON'T work in a cubicle, consider this:
- My job is actually pretty sweet.
- No one bothers me in my cubicle, monitors when I come and go, or hassles me about deadlines.
- My cubicle is large.
- My cubicle is directly behind my friend Laura's cubicle and across from my friend Michelle's, which allows for maximum debauchery.
- At current, one wall of my cubicle is covered with packing peanuts, arranged in a pleasant mural form.
However, it still is -- and always will be -- a cubicle. Which leads me to ruminate on some popular cubicle myths/realities:
Myth 1: cubicles suck the life out of you.
This is only partially true. Cubicles don't suck the life out of you. Sitting in one place, motionless all day, staring at a computer screen, does. However, this is not the fault of a cubicle. Sometimes I do this at home.
Myth 2: Cubicles make people isolated.
This is probably true. Luckily for us all though, there's facebook to keep us connected, over the imposing cubicle walls.
Myth 3: Everyone who works in a cubicle hates their life.
In my office, not so much. We're mostly young, and vivacious, and have dreams of moving beyond the cube later in life. But for the disgruntled older employees of the office across the hall (who I only encounter in the bathroom, and who regularly have conversations along the lines of "How are you?" / (long sigh) "It's Tuesday") cubicledom definitely leads to self-hatred. Or maybe all these women just have permanent PMS. Or are going through menopause.
Myth 4: Cubicle employees are boring, lifeless, and have no career aspirations.
Um, I hope not. I feel like I have life aspirations. And I'm only lifeless at work because cubicles suck the life out of you (see Myth 1).
Right now, it's 3:42 p.m. I'm sitting in my cubicle, with pretty much nothing to do, since I've already completed my tasks for the day.
Here's what I hear. Coughing. The heat (mad loud...as in, when it shuts off, people freak out about it being "too quiet.") More coughing. Fingers typing on keyboards. The heat. Maybe a distant conversation. Even more coughing (Take a freaking Sudafed already, will ya?). Souls, slowly dying.
But at least I don't have to worry about anyone restricting access to the stapler: