2004-02-17

As bemoaned many times in the past, I work in a cubicle. And as I have petulantly pointed out, one of the defining features of your standard cubicle is a tragic lack of closeable doors. (I�m thinking of holding a telethon.) You may also have gleaned from these hallowed annals that I value my privacy only slightly less than I value having two working kidneys; as such it irks me that if I decide to give myself a manicure with utility scissors, say, it is a matter of public record. In other words, I wish people would quit looking at me. If they would quit speaking to me, that would be fine as well.

It�s weird, actually. It would seem to be a given that if you pass a cubicle on a working day, you�re very likely to find a person inside of it. But the novelty of this discovery never seems to wear off among my colleagues. Every person who happens by seems drawn to peer in at me as though they expect to find a horse with two heads performing mathematical equations on my computer. Nope! Just me! Just like five minutes ago! Hi there!

I feel like a specimen in a zoo. I cope with this fact, as I cope with many things, by ignoring the living shit out of it. People amble by, and from the corner of my eye I can see them giving me the �Let�s chat!� friendly-smiley look; in return I studiously examine my desktop as though the secret of cold fusion is encoded in hieroglyphics on the faux-wood veneer. No small talk happening here. The Minister�s office was all nice and quiet, and now I have to get re-accustomed to having someone ogling my business every thirty seconds. Three months is a long time � while I was gone, my coworkers apparently forgot that I�m a total asshole; similarly, I forgot that they�re a bunch of annoying twats. We�ll have to get to hate each other all over again!