Dear Fellow Office Cubical Keepers,
I know I am new to your clan, and the travel to this barren and frankly depressing wasteland has been difficult for me. I come from a kingdom with four walls and a door, and I come from a people who respect peace and privacy, decorum and taste. Your clan lives under the glare of bright grocery store lighting. I come from the land of eternal sunset and ambient lighting for the darkest days. Your world knows no day and no night for there are no windows anywhere nearby. I watched the birds in the trees and the multiple car accidents that happen nearby on the curve. It was good times.
But I am trying to make the transition and make my cubicle a part-time home. I am also trying to get some work done, and herein lies my problem.
I think maybe nobody has let the Brethren of the FOCK in on an important fact: Cubicle walls do not go to the ceiling. Cubicle walls have no doors. And despite their best efforts, cubicles are NOT sound-proof. This isn't the Cone of Silence, people. It is a flimsy wall covered in cheap blue fabric that is maybe six-feet tall. But look at the top of the wall. You'll see several feet of NOT WALL extending from the top of the cube to the ceiling. Combine the NOT WALL with the NOT DOOR and you've got NO PRIVACY.
No matter how badly I want it.
And so, my dear Brethren of the FOCK --
- I don't want to know about your vacation and the hotels where you stayed.
- I don't care to know about the holiday shopping spree your ex made at the local pawn shop.
- I don't need to know about your busted water pump at home,
- or your broken-down car,
- or the donuts,
- or the flowers that you dragged in from home and spent 45 minutes arranging,
- and NO FOR THE LAST TIME I DIDN'T BRING IN THE DELICIOUS PECAN SANDY COOKIES AND NO I DONT KNOW WHO DID.
It's not that I'm anti-social. I say hello and greet my fellow Brethren of the FOCK. But whereas none of these conversations included me -- and I'm entirely fine with that -- I heard every single one of them with shocking clarity, whether I wanted to or not. And believe me, the preference here would have been or not. Don't want to know, don't care to know, don't need to know. Maybe I'm the only one, but I actually have work to do. So please, I'm begging you: keep the details of your life to yourself. Because what I cannot block out with my iPod (which I lovingly call my weapon of mass musical destruction) becomes fair game for the Internets.
And some of that is some FOCKed up fodder.
And NO -- I don't want any cheese.