Tales of a Cubicle Monkey
There’s an interesting article online this week from CNNMoney.com called ‘The Great Escape’ – all about the 30th anniversary of the illustrious office cubicle. The article states that 40 million Americans are trapped daily in their office’s veal pens, pretending that the 3.25 walls that surround their faux-wood desks make for a comfortable, relaxing work environment.
“Reviled by workers, demonized by designers, disowned by its very creator, it still claims the largest share of office furniture sales - $3 billion or so a year – and has outlived every “office of the future” meant to replace it. It is the Fidel Castro of office furniture.”
Hello, My name is Tom, and I am a Cubicle Monkey. ("Hello, Thomas".)
I’ve been a full time part of Cube Hell (Dante's 8th level) ever since I came to my employer 8 years ago – the employer I had beforehand just lined us all up along one wall, side by side, facing the wall. My first cubby here was among a sea of about 500; it was literally a maze trying to find your way in or out of it. You really expected to find a piece of cheese or a centaur at the end. The walls were blah grey and the desks were L-shaped; three feet in front of you, two feet on your left. (Being left handed, I begged and pleaded for a “leftie” cube.) It was cramped, and by the time I added an IT computer and a working computer, there was barely enough room for my obligatory “Is it Friday yet?” coffee mug. (Okay, I’ve honestly never owned one of those. Or a Dilbert calendar. I do have some pride, you realize.)
I lived in that little cubicle for almost two years as my employer slowly fell apart around us – every round of layoffs would mean that a few more cubes here and there would mysteriously go empty. Finally it got to the point that there were so few people left they started tearing down the cubicles in sections, leaving huge open spaces in between those that remained standing. At the end it reminded me of a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle with the outside edge complete, and just a couple of pieces here and there spread around the inside. Sad, really.
I did one work with one pathetic cube monkey for a while who actually referred to his cube as "his office" - sort of the same way a prisoner calls his cell his "palace". Jason would tell people to "step into his office", and actually mean it, even though if two people actually did ty to squeeze into his space they'd be close enough to violate the company's sexual harassment policy. Some jokers made him a cardboard door and put tape lines on the floor, ala Les Nesman, but the dorkhead took it as a compliment, not the insult it was intended to be. Ah, delusions of grandeur. Aren't they sweet?
Anyway, today I’m in a slightly larger cube, with three shelves, four computers, and a “Bad Cat” calendar. (Still no Dilbert.) The lighting sucks, the floors haven’t been mopped in years, and there’s enough dust and pollutants coming out of the air vents to kill a million alien invaders, but it’s home. It’s where I spend a majority of my day, thinking up new and clever ways to escape the pod world and actually find a job someday that has natural light. (The nearest window is about 30 yards away. It could be daylight, pitch dark, or raining frogs out there for all I can see.)
But for now, it works. Sure, they’re not fancy, but the veal pens seem to suit the purpose. And it sure beats having to sit facing the wall all day while the lady next to you sucks on her false teeth and slowly farts her way through her afternoon.
So three cheers to all of the Cubicle Monkeys out there. May your walls be made of tack board, may your desktop be eco-friendly, and may your plants never wither up and die from the constant stream of fluorescents. And may Dilbert stay far, far away from your 8:00 - 5:00 world.
It ain’t glamorous, but it’s home. Well, sort of.
“Reviled by workers, demonized by designers, disowned by its very creator, it still claims the largest share of office furniture sales - $3 billion or so a year – and has outlived every “office of the future” meant to replace it. It is the Fidel Castro of office furniture.”
Hello, My name is Tom, and I am a Cubicle Monkey. ("Hello, Thomas".)
I’ve been a full time part of Cube Hell (Dante's 8th level) ever since I came to my employer 8 years ago – the employer I had beforehand just lined us all up along one wall, side by side, facing the wall. My first cubby here was among a sea of about 500; it was literally a maze trying to find your way in or out of it. You really expected to find a piece of cheese or a centaur at the end. The walls were blah grey and the desks were L-shaped; three feet in front of you, two feet on your left. (Being left handed, I begged and pleaded for a “leftie” cube.) It was cramped, and by the time I added an IT computer and a working computer, there was barely enough room for my obligatory “Is it Friday yet?” coffee mug. (Okay, I’ve honestly never owned one of those. Or a Dilbert calendar. I do have some pride, you realize.)
I lived in that little cubicle for almost two years as my employer slowly fell apart around us – every round of layoffs would mean that a few more cubes here and there would mysteriously go empty. Finally it got to the point that there were so few people left they started tearing down the cubicles in sections, leaving huge open spaces in between those that remained standing. At the end it reminded me of a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle with the outside edge complete, and just a couple of pieces here and there spread around the inside. Sad, really.
I did one work with one pathetic cube monkey for a while who actually referred to his cube as "his office" - sort of the same way a prisoner calls his cell his "palace". Jason would tell people to "step into his office", and actually mean it, even though if two people actually did ty to squeeze into his space they'd be close enough to violate the company's sexual harassment policy. Some jokers made him a cardboard door and put tape lines on the floor, ala Les Nesman, but the dorkhead took it as a compliment, not the insult it was intended to be. Ah, delusions of grandeur. Aren't they sweet?
Anyway, today I’m in a slightly larger cube, with three shelves, four computers, and a “Bad Cat” calendar. (Still no Dilbert.) The lighting sucks, the floors haven’t been mopped in years, and there’s enough dust and pollutants coming out of the air vents to kill a million alien invaders, but it’s home. It’s where I spend a majority of my day, thinking up new and clever ways to escape the pod world and actually find a job someday that has natural light. (The nearest window is about 30 yards away. It could be daylight, pitch dark, or raining frogs out there for all I can see.)
But for now, it works. Sure, they’re not fancy, but the veal pens seem to suit the purpose. And it sure beats having to sit facing the wall all day while the lady next to you sucks on her false teeth and slowly farts her way through her afternoon.
So three cheers to all of the Cubicle Monkeys out there. May your walls be made of tack board, may your desktop be eco-friendly, and may your plants never wither up and die from the constant stream of fluorescents. And may Dilbert stay far, far away from your 8:00 - 5:00 world.
It ain’t glamorous, but it’s home. Well, sort of.
posted by Tommy G at
10:16 AM
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