(post copyright 2012, Dawn Weber)
They come from the Dark Side.
They kill the mind and steal the spirit. Metal box, fabric walls, suspicious smells, inches from the neighbor - just the place to spend eternity. And there is no escape from...
Pig pens? Prison cells? Caskets?
Hell to the no.
We're talking about All-American, life-blood-draining, soul-sucking cubicles.
That's right, folks. Tired of sunlight, warm air and plant life? Bored of basic human respect? Grown weary of visual stimulation? Feel like dying a little inside, every day?
Well, then. Your local place of employment has just the square for you. And you and you and you...
It's true. You've sat in the cube. Probably, you're sitting there now, doin' your time. Workin' for The Man. Checkin' the Facebook.
Because almost everyone works in the cubicle, The Box these days.
- Customer service representative? Box with phone.
- Architect? Box with slanty table.
- Writer? Box with coffee and empty wallet.
- Car salesman? Box with lies.
It doesn't matter what you do for a living. The Box experience is the same.
Watch as precious minutes, hours, days of your life tick slowly, slowly, SLOWLY away. Look longingly out the window at the beautiful day. You'll never see it.
Steal glances at photos of your children. Those little cash-mongers. They're the reason you're there, stuck in The Box.
Know way more than you ever wanted to about people you don't like, and spend far more time with these jokers than your own family.
Listen as your neighbor Richard loudly discusses his colonoscopy over the phone with his wife - in great detail. Listen again as Dick discusses it with his mom. In great detail.
Smell the lunch of your other neighbor, Mary McFishbreath. She's having reheated cod and stuffed cabbage. Again. No need to pack your own food. Simply open your mouth to taste Mary's. It's Cubicle Cuisine!
Overhear Mary and Dick's loud conversation:
Mary: "Hey, can I borrow your crank?"
Dick: "Yeah. Are you sure mine is the right size?"
Mary: "Well, it looks too big for the hole, but it might work..."
Blush beet red. Then realize the only "tool" they're discussing is the one that adjusts desk height.
Sigh. Whatever happened to offices? I watched The Mary Tyler Moore Show. I thought that if I got an education, gained experience and worked hard, by now I'd have my own office like Lou Grant - with real wooden walls
A nice, private room, where one could nap, check personal e-mails and Facebook in peace, without pesky bosses walking in unannounced. A room with an actual door that slammed loudly, in case of anger. Or termination for e-mailing, Facebooking and napping.
But here I am, with all the other dummies, stuffed into a Box like an egg in a carton, a pig in a pen, a corpse in a casket.
Please. If I'm going to spend my days in a Box, make mine a jail cell. Much roomier. And at least I'd get meals, a bed and some free time.
Not to mention that handy toilet.
(One from the archives. I am still over here, trying to think of something funny. Send help. Or boxed wine.)