"I Inherited the Desk from Hell"

Well, it finally happened. At about 9:30am on Monday, my desk was moved. I was told it would happen momentarily, but I never expected to get a phone call that early asking if I was ready. What a task that was. I had way more stuff than I thought. A manager walked past me and exclaimed, "He has more stuff in 6 months than I have." And he'd been there for over 5 years at least. I didn't know whether to say thanks or be ashamed. It was like moving to a new town; the other side of the floor had a decidedly different vibe than where I was. It was quieter, more relaxed even. Now don't get the wrong idea; I liked where I sat. All the people I talked to on a daily basis were there; and it was a great location. An end cubicle facing the hallway. There was a lot of activity and it was constantly noisy, but it was my noise. I was also within skipping (yes, skipping) distance of all the essentials: the copier, the fax, the mail room. The break room was a mere 1 minute walk. A great centrally located spot. But with the "reshuffling" or whatever they call it, of the unit, I became, as I like to say, a "cap casualty" (I like to speak in sports terms).

Anyway, moving all my stuff over there, I had no idea what I was in for in terms of what desk I was getting. I should have known when the burly man with the sad disposition said to me, "I'm not even close to being ready" that I'd be in for something. And boy was I.

When he finally had most of his stuff moved, I came over to put some of my massive Mount Everest-esque files in my new home. I went to open up a drawer, but Burly Man beat me to it. He asked before I opened it if I wanted him to clean it out. I figured it wouldn't be that bad, so I respectfully declined. So it was to my surprise when I opened up to find a pound of duck and soy sauces, old New York Mets schedules from the late '90's, and an appointment card for a psychiatric appointment (no surprise there). The desk itself was littered in what appeared to be crumbs, spilled coffee, lost souls, and broken dreams. The floor was covered in loose paper, paperclips, and probably about 10,000 types of bacteria. It took me literally 3 hours just to sanitize that outbreak. If I were to even put my hand on that desk, I'd of turned into the zombies in 28 Days Later, thirsting on cubicle dwellers. Whoever gets my old desk is getting a mansion compared to the Hooverville I inherited. The fact that someone could work like that for over 2 years shows just how bad things could get at that job. When people stop caring about their physical health, then you know it's bad.

But all in all, it hasn't been a bad move. Sure, I'm about 200 yards away from everything now, and I get a glare from the window that could melt an iceberg, but all in all it's OK. The job itself is, unbelievably, not that bad right now. Sure, I'm still looking for any excuse to get out, but I'm closing in on 6 months. The pay is decent, and will only go up. The benefits are to die for. But am I truly happy? I can't really say. Maybe because I am accomplishing all my tasks and not getting assigned any new work. I know that'll change. I think they're easing up because of the massive amount of paper they buried me in when I started. But it's all becoming routine, I guess. I've made my connections there, professionally and personally. But my heart is still somewhere else. I guess you have to ask me every day how I feel. It changes like the weather. I'm sure it'll get bad again, and I'll want to quit. But right now, the best word to describe how I feel is "complacent." But that won't be forever. The next post will deal with what I hate the most about commuters: people who open umbrellas when it's not raining, people who overdress for the weather, and my favorite, "people who sit in the aisle seat on a bus when they know they're going to have to move to the window anyway."

The Great Desk Shuffle

How exciting is it that this is a short work week? There's nothing better for a desk jockey than to hear "holiday" and "half day" in the same week. It's like dying and going to heaven at the same time. But even with short weeks, always come a lot of stress. I don't know what it is, but bosses and management tend to spring everything on you all at the same time, causing massive amounts of headaches. When we should be coasting into the early weekend, we're brought to a sudden and extreme halt.

In my case this week, it's been relatively slow. Although today is just Monday. We still have tomorrow and half of Wednesday. Now that the wonderkind girl that sits in front of my boss is, GASP, out all week, guess who becomes the resident whipping boy? I have some lashes on my back already, but nothing Roots-like (was that inappropriate? I couldn't think of anything else). Luckily for me, I had answers for everything she threw at me, so I was OK. Rule #1 of Cubicle Survival: Always getting a rebound off a tough shot. Even if it's a completely bullshit answer, you're still safe because you gave them something. And that's all you need, usually. Unless they grill you...then you may have to face the fire. But enough cliches.

The big bomb that was dropped today was that I will be moving. Not in my personal life (damn you, college loans), but my desk is getting moved. I'm moving to the other side of the world (or floor, but trust me, it's just as epic). Due to the higher ups "reshuffling" the unit, who is the first casualty? The mentally unbalanced black woman who threatens co-workers with violence and screams at her boss? Of course not (besides, she was moved already). The annoying complaining shrew of a woman who sits beside me, who if complaining didn't exist, would cease to be able to speak? Definitely not. And with the Rookie of the Year untouchable, it leaves 'ol me. The lowest one on the totem pole. I liked my desk. I liked my setup. My desk was in a great place: I could see the action that took place in front of me and people watch. But I also could see/hear what was going on behind me, most of the time. So if I was busy on match.com (Never was...but I hear people did go on), I could quickly minimize and go back to Microsoft Word.

But anyway, when this was told to me today, I really had no reaction. At this point nothing surprises me at this job anymore. If they told me I'd be relocated to Africa, I'd start to pack my bags. Things are run so half-heartedly around there, "Kid Nation" could probably do a better job (and install a kick-ass root beer bar). Their priorities are all screwed up. Instead of fixing the problem (or cutting out the cancer on something), they just simply put a band aid on it and hope it heals. And obviously, when you're dealing with public money and with that many employees, that's just not going to cut the mustard. But who am I? I just have to go with the flow and do what I'm told. Hierarchy is a bitch, but what can you do.

Where I'm moving is not desirable either. If it was near attractive women or a fun group, that's one thing. But I'm moving by people who are crotchety and unwilling to help. One guy will rat you out to the bosses if you get out of line. So I'll be only saying "Good morning" to him. The other basically washed his hands of a project I needed help on. Even though he did it previously. And I was new. Like they say, forgive, but never forget. I'll miss wandering and chatting with the youngins over in my section, but I can still do my rounds. Just not as frequently.

But in more upbeat news, I've seemed to get my spirit back. After a previous job I applied for gave me a tease and ultimately let me down, I read an article from my favorite magazine, Men's Health (had to plug it) today while working out. It was a pretty straightforward article about a guy trying to make the Dallas Cowboys roster as essentially a walk-on. It wasn't really the athlete that got me motivated; it was the language the author used. It was like he was speaking directly to me. I know that this job isn't for me, and there's no reason to ever stop trying. Because if this missed internship has told me anything, it's that I do have something to offer. I think I tend to overanalyze and underestimate myself. Maybe I'm a realist; maybe I'm just pessimistic. I haven't decided yet. I always go into a situation with low expectations; because when you think like that, you can never be let down. It's always worked for me. But now I feel like I shouldn't sell myself short. I was discouraged and unwilling to take another risk and be let down. But after reading this article, I felt a renewed sense of initiative, if that makes sense. I'm going to get a better job, something I like. I will not be one of those "lifers" who looks back 30 years from now and wonders "What if." I want to be the guy who says, "I did." If it takes a paycut and more hours, so be it. No one should ever feel like they can't change the course of their lives. And since I'm young, this is the time when I have the financial and economical freedom to switch positions. Like a quarterback, I can still call an audible before the play is called. It's once that play is called that I have to make a decision. But you can never win without at least going deep once. Read this article, and maybe you can be as inspired as I was:
http://www.menshealth.com/cda/article.do?site=MensHealth&channel=guy.wisdom&category=life.lessons&conitem=6787ef56737f5110VgnVCM20000012281eac____

"Everyone has a dream. Most of us never realize that dream. It hovers before us like a star over water (or green AstroTurf), luring us on. The prospect of lunging forward and taking hold of that dream is a startling one, maybe even frightening. (What if you miss? What if you don't? What will you dream about if your dream becomes a reality?) But when the moment of opportunity arrives, it's the courage to make that lunge, regardless of the outcome, that separates the achievers from the mediocre."

Training Classes Are A Joke

Today I had training in "ethics." Essentially, I had to be able to discern between what was a "good" decision and what was a "bad" one. For three hours I had to hear people in this class ask the most asinine questions for the most ridiculous situations (all those adjectives were necessary). Like, "If it's a friend of a friend, and they're our friend, is it OK to take a dollar from them?" The moderators answered each question like it was the smartest question ever asked in the world. The most annoying part? Besides having to sit uncomfortably in a plastic chair and almost dozing off (the only way I stayed awake was when I started to sway to my right and I felt drool coming out of my mouth; I have this problem where I do this when I sleep sitting up. It's disgusting, but I can't help it. It sprung me right up though, and I remained awake the rest of the time. So maybe it was a good thing.) The worst part was this woman who sat in front of me. She was one of those people who talked out loud, loud enough for everyone around her to hear her, but quietly enough so the moderators couldn't hear her. She began her afternoon at the meeting by exclaiming, "Can you believe this is four hours? You know how busy I am? How busy I am?" She repeated "busy" and "I" at least four times. No one seemed to listen, but she continued on with brilliant comments like, "I'd drive that car" (when the instructor asked what we'd do if we found a new car in our driveway), or "Now he's milking it" (the instructor just kept talking). That last comment I agreed with; it was like he enjoyed having us sit there and literally melt out of our seats. After three hours I felt like I went three rounds in a prizefight; mentally and physically exhausted.

I dodged a huge bullet today. I don't want to get into it, because it would reveal what I do, but let's just say things have a way of working their way out. What pissed me off though is that some people just don't ever come through. You help them out, they still find a way to let you down. Not in life, just in this job. I help this guy out, he shows his gratitude by basically spitting in my face. Fuck that.

But I really wasn't worried; I have come to the conclusion I can do 80% work here and still get the job done, so why even give all my energy to anything? My boss was kind of yelling at me, and I could care less. I just do what I can and that's it. No more going the extra mile. You don't get anything for it, the job's really not that important. My boss works weekends and holidays. And for what? An extra few bucks and a pat on the head from management? There, the more you put in, the more work and shit you get, so why subject yourself to it? This job is wayyy too unimportant to devote that much of your life to it. If you do, you're a fool. And clearly need to get laid or get a life.

It's sad to come to the realization that your job sucks, but the place is such a joke that you'd literally have to light the building on fire to get fired. I like to think I'm fairly superstitious, but this is the total truth. If you can yell at your boss and get away with it, you know the job is bullshit. I was devastated to hear that another job I applied for fell through; but it gives me perseverance to continue the good fight. Because I view my job as the enemy; I must slay it before it consumes me. If I stay here longer than six months I'll be very upset. I don't want to be someone that stays in a job for 30 years for job security or because I grow complacent with it. That's how so many people are there. They wish they could get out but they don't have the energy or just don't care. And they still complain. I'm a firm believer that you can always change your stars, no matter how old or how late in life. It's just how much of yourself you're willing to dedicate to it. So let's hope my stars change. Because I really can't take it anymore. But for now, I have to keep a smile on my face and my head down. Someone's gotta pay for my beer money.

The first post...but definitely not the last

This is my first post, and I can tell you wholeheartedly it will not be my last. Being this is Veteran's Day (a joyous day, not just for our various armed forces...but because I get a day off tomorrow), I wanted to create a blog where I could share my thoughts on working in an office. I'm sure the two of you reading this (hi Mom) already know all you have to about office environments, after seeing "Office Space," "The Office," or "Fight Club." But really, you have to experience it firsthand to really get the overall feeling of how crazy, depressing, and funny it really is. Now, I've been a Cubicle Private (I know that sounds dirty, but I really am just using military terms) for almost five months now, so I feel I can give a fairly unbiased review of what it's like to work within the confines of those four padded walls. I work for a very large city agency, so I think my situation is probably more stressful than other peoples. Not to take anything away from other offices; I'm sure they're just as annoying as mine is. But until I get found out by "The Man" (he really exists, and in my office, he's a man with a penchant for dancing at holiday parties for the full four hours...no food or alcohol needed), or I'm ratted out by some nosy co-worker (already happened before), I plan to dish on everything. From how you're supposed to act at after-work functions (keeping your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open...something I learned the hard way), to how to best fake looking busy (Microsoft Outlook is my right-hand man on this one). So get comfortable, get a stiff drink (I suggest Whiskey...this job could drive you to develop a problem), and prepare yourself to enter the mind of a Cubicle Footsoldier.

"What a Closetcase"

You can look at an office as a family. All the classic characters are there. Actually, scratch that. If an office is like a family, it would definitely be more Archie Bunker “All in the Family” than The Brady Bunch. If an office is like anything realistic, it’d be more like a bad TV sitcom, just without the canned laughter and commercials. Everyday I went into work, I knew a new “episode” would be airing right before my eyes. It’d either be a real tearjerker (like when I found out someone who worked a floor below me had Lou Gehrig’s Disease) or something very dramatic (when a co-worker of mine had a knockdown drag out verbal war with my boss…and won). Each day I waited for the director (either management or Ed Harris from "The Truman Show") to yell “Cut,” and I’d realize I was on a real show. Unfortunately, “Cut” was never yelled. “I’ll take you into the backroom” (wherever that was) and “My freakin’ cajones” (in horrible non-Spanish diction) were uttered, or rather screamed, but never "Cut." I quickly realized I wasn’t dreaming; this was really happening before me. Walking in everyday was like witnessing a car accident: you wanted to turn and avert your eyes, even help…but you couldn’t. It just happened too fast and too quick for you to react.

But what a cast of characters it was. I'll just start with one guy, the ultimate "closetcase." A guy, who if given a simple neurological exam, would have found out he had serious sociopathic tendencies and should have been institutionalized years ago.

To protect myself from a lawsuit or even bodily harm (though I don't fear him; if anything, I fear what he'd do to others), I'll just call him "Psycho Sid." Now Psycho Sid had been one of your office "stalwarts," a guy who started like almost 30 years ago and should have clearly retired 29 years ago. A bitter pill of a man, he had the whole "everyone is against me" mindset, even though he could get away with murder (And he almost did...I'll get to that). I mean what more could he want? He never adhered to the "business casual" dress code (he wore some sort of odd pullover, which he had in various colors), he could leave before his shift technically ended, and he wandered around the office all day, seemingly never being at his desk. But of course, being in an office, complaining goes hand-in-hand with just about everything, so whoever was around to hear this pathetic excuse, got an earful.

At first when I met him, I liked him. I had a problem finishing something on my computer (office-related software...is there a worse calamity in the world? Is it a necessity for it to be harder to decipher than Sanskrit?) and he actually helped me. He offered to be of service whenever I needed it, and I felt good. "A real friendly guy, and very helpful," I thought to myself.

But slowly but surely, just like every cubicle jockey, the chinks in his armor began to show. The stories began to be exposed on him. He was like the clean-cut politician who "inhaled" back in college. Except by "inhaling," I mean "throwing a chair across a room while everyone watched in terror). He never struck me as the short-fuse type, but after hearing this, it all started to make sense. After a few months, he started to give me odd looks and comments. Like the time I asked how he was doing and he replied, matter-of-factly, "Ready to kill." Granted, I was near heavy machinery, so of course I feared for my life. "Ok," I replied, as I slowly slithered out of harm's way. There was also the time the New York Mets choked more than a porn star on her first day to end the season. Sid took the loss like his own family had been brutally murdered. Now, I knew they would lose (I mean c'mon, they are the Mets...let the hate mail commence), but to take something inconsequential that hard was ridiculous. "You won't see me smiling today," he said in the elevator. Thankfully I was in it with someone else, but why did I always have to be in settings alone with this guy? Where was my college rape whistle when I needed it?

Later he began to show even more weird tendencies. He had this strange fascination/relationship with a co-worker of mine (a real Godsend...for a later post). Somehow it had evolved into how often he could "scare" her and her giving a very frightened, non-acting, reaction. Childish? Of course. Disturbing to watch? You bet. She humored him as well as she could, but it was turned into more fuel for the fire for the Psycho One. Soon enough, he'd be over at her desk, talking up a storm for sometimes more than 10 minutes at a time. Talking about what? I'll never know. All I know is one conversation they had was how he spent his "exciting" weekend: "I sat in front of the TV for 19 hours," he said, like it was something to be complimented on. "I only got up to go out and get food," he'd add, as if this would make it even better. He never said he got up to use the restroom, so use your imagination there.

Everyone knew to keep their distance from this guy, and to always be nice to him, for fear of Chairgate Part 2. I really didn't see the big deal about him; I saw him as nothing but a past his prime blowhard who would break down at watching "Bambi," and couldn't hurt a fly. Others had warned me how this guy was a joke, and at first I didn't believe it. But it was clear enough to me after seeing him for what he was, I gathered the same feelings about him.

But to wrap up this case study, the best Psycho Sid story was definitely the most recent one. Sometime a few weeks ago, he did his whole hilarious scare tactic with my co-worker, who of course, upon seeing this blob, did what any normal person would do: scream bloody murder and seek out the authorities. Well, maybe not that extreme, but I think she was holding back. Anyway, he scares her, she shrieks, and he then replies with some of the most chilling words ever uttered by a human: "Hit me," he says. Except it wasn't in a John Cusack 1980's type of way. It was more along the lines of something to be uttered in a creepy horror movie. Over and over again, he replied, "Hit me," while holding his hands out like a child. I didn't witness this, but heard all the gory details later recounted to me. If that's not the most disturbing thing you've ever heard, then I don't know what is. How the girl didn't find the nearest wooden stake and put it through his heart is beyond me. I guess she's more subtle than I am.

So what's the lesson we've learned here today, kids? Never look a crazy person in the eyes, and always run away from someone who looks like Humpty Dumpty.