Greetings fellow Cheesecake lovers. Today I am painfully excited to talk about something that very few enjoy. Cubicles.
Odd, right? I know. It’s at great cost to my dignity that I even share with you what I’m about to divulge, however my melodramatic tendencies leave me no choice.
First some backstory/slightly unnecessary details.
In April, the cubicle will turn 57 years old. The spectacular designer was Robert Propst. He studied how people worked and wanted to improve on the open-bullpen office that he had grown up with. They were designed to liberate the office worker from the privacy-less panic of the open office (There is so much irony in that last sentence). Business found it incredibly useful for cramming people into smaller spaces, while upper level management still enjoyed windowed offices on the perimeter of the building. This is incredibly brief history of the cubicle we’ve come to love… loathe… tolerate.
This brings us me. Little old rookie reporter in Virden, MB. Here at the Empire Advance, we do numerous transactions and conduct interviews all over town. Back in November, my first month here, I was tasked with talking with someone in the office building across our street. Simple enough right? Wrong. I eagerly stroll across Eighth Ave and enter the building. A split entry way leaves me with a simple decision, up or down. I walk up the petite flight of stairs, stretch my arm out to open the door… I freeze.
As I look through the doorway. Dozens of pairs of eyes (in my mind it’s thousands of eyes like that of Sauron in LoTR) peep over their little celled walls (cubicles) and pierce my soul. I begin to perspire, my breathing became heavy and honestly… my fight or flight response took over and I wanted to escape as swiftly as a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. I rush down the stairs, collect my thoughts and think to myself, ‘they must be downstairs’.
I descend down to the lower level. I gaze upon the next room. MORE CUBICLES. I almost broke my neck running back to our office so fast. I ended up calling them for the needed information, hoping and praying I’d never step foot into the land of cubicles.
Well, this week I was forced to brave the terrifying land of open office again. This time however, I’d have a plan. So, I assembled a team of specialized operatives and began the mission briefing.
The gentleman I would be visiting is a higher up in cubical territory, therefore he actually has an office with a door. This is great as once I get to his office, the door can be closed behind me to shut out the prying eyes. The obstacle however is I have to get THROUGH the land of cubicles. Once the taskforce had significant intel on where, who and how I would accomplish this task… I was ready to embark on my mission.
I boldly cross the street, assertively walk up the stairs, take a deep breath and reflect our master plan and executed the assignment. Through the doors, tunnel vision enabled, I found my target… he even waived confirming the identity. Enter his office, door closes #missionsuccess.
I thought it went great, I interviewed the gentleman, exchanged some jokes and laughed. All that was left was retracing my steps and bringing the intel back to headquarters for debriefing. Easy? I certainly thought so. I undetectably began preparing for my exit. We shook hands, I opened the door. Like I was there in my pink polka-dotted boxer shorts, every eye in cubicle land snapped from their tasks onto me. I began walking hastily towards the exit, the end was in sight. I confidently open the door and proceed to walk through the doorway with gusto… again I froze. I had just walked right into their janitorial closet with every single piercing eye at my back. I gulped, turning and trying to brush off this humiliation stated, ‘whoops, this isn’t the stairs!’
This my friends. This is why I hate cubicles.
