... otherwise known as Cubicle Blue.
Monday through Friday this is my sun and moon. It is my rain, snow sleet AND hail. It is my blindingly beautiful summer days and my ominous tornado-warning skies. It is my day and my night, my springtime birds and my explosive autumn trees, with hues more vibrant than a box of Crayola 64s.
Can you feel the hate tonight? I do. Or, I would, if I knew it were night. All I know is cubicle blue.
Sure, I try to cover it up as best I can. THANK GOD for full sized Demotivator posters, because without them, my life would full of that much more cubicle blue. But no matter how many humorous posters, art-filled calendars, and knick-knacks on shelves and desk, I'm still smothered by cubicle blue.
One of three posters on my wall. It sums things up nicely.
There was never a better calendar page in the history of calendar pages.
Neville, I feel you.
My buddy, my pal, Tom Servo.
He understands life in captivity.
Now I know that in this day and age (not to mention the decidedly bleak economic and employment conditions) I'm lucky to have a job at all, cubicle blue wall or not. But I would submit that I walls aren't all they are cracked up to be. For one thing, they give coworkers the false impression that an unseen employee (hidden by said cubicle blue wall) is either absent or deaf. And since silence is equivalent to permission, cubicle blue allows people to launch into a verbal tsunami of personal minutiae, including (but not limited to) the traffic (bad), the current weather (hot, cold, rainy, snowy, sunny, humid), the upcoming weather (hotter, colder, rainier, snowier, sunnier), allergies, lunch, breakfast, what they did last weekend, what they are going to do this weekend, the current state of the college, professional or peewee sports team, and the last time their grandchild pooped in the potty. Each and every one of these is a valid topic of conversation. For someone WHO CARES.
But Cubicle blue doesn't give me a choice. Cubicle blue wraps its arms around me like a straight-jacket and, like a torture session in an undisclosed location, forces me to listen to the never-ending banter whether I want to or not. And believe me, I want to NOT.
I only have one true weapon at my disposal. It does nothing about the Cubicle Blue. I'm afraid that's here to stay for the foreseeable future. A future which, by the way, is blue. However, my secret weapon, used in conjunction with the allied forces do a pretty good job of keeping the crazy at bay for eight hours a day.
My one and only weapon.
My Obi-Wan Kenobi.
My only hope.
The force is strong with this one.
(Unless the tubes of the Internet are clogged,
in which case, I'm pretty much screwed)