I’m a cube-dweller, probably like many of you. Monday-Friday, 8-5 I spend in an 8’ x 8’ cube.

My little piece of padded, square-shaped Hell.

It’s not nearly as fun as the horror movie The Cube.

It’s not the psych ward. But it’s close. I’m employed by a quasi-state entity. (And you thought I lived off this blog? I wish!)
As a state employee I learned a new word: F U R L O U G H. A furlough is where the Governator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, decides your already-low state pay isn’t low enough and, due to the bad decisions of bad politicians, you now get an even smaller pay check. Yippee.

The 6’ tall gray cubicle walls are lightly padded for my protection, not unlike the padded cells of a funny-farm.

I do suspect they are grooming me for transfer to the psych ward.

I refer to my fellow cube-dwellers as “cube-mates”, particularly if their cube shares a wall with mine. There is currently a male and a female coworker on either side of my cube. The male is the Most. Quiet. Person. Ever.

To keep me from having too much sanity (and thereby not utilizing the lightly-padded cell cube walls in which to bounce off of) The Powers That Be decided that placing a very chatty woman on the other side of me would be a good idea.

Remember, I work for the state. Good ideas are not their strong point.

She’s a very sweet gal who happens to like regurgitating her dating dilemmas. When she’s not doing that, she’s in her cube. Listening to horrid music.

To which she sings.

Out loud. Off key.

This is not the worst part, believe it or not. She often plays the SAME SONG over and over again. If I hear “Umbrella” one more time, I’m going to go insane – and then they’ll have to transfer me to the funny farm.

The only other option is to listen to the other cube dwellers who like to drone on about their failing relationship, or give a blow-by-blow of their Match.com dates. *snore*

But more often it’s of their latest conquest at the bar over the weekend. Oh yay.

In excruciating detail. Hold me back.

You’re getting some? How nice for you. Shut up. (Unless of course, the details are kinky. Then, do please tell.)

Then how he’s now a stalker. *blinkblink*

And she has to change her personal info. OH THE DRAMA.

The conquest du jour finally disappears, only to be replaced by another. The names change, but the story remains the same. This pretty much leaves me to prefer the peace of my cube, albeit with the musical accompaniment of the adjacent cube singer.

I was normal, until I started working here. Here, in my little bit of square-shaped hell.

I can tell you the walls aren’t padded nearly enough. I still feel it when I repeatedly hit my head against them.

(Note to self: Get bandages for head. Reinforce padding on walls.)

This is how I spend my day.

How about you? Are you a fellow cube-dweller? Tell me I’m not alone.

I want to hear your cube-dwelling horror your stories. Seriously. Feel free to leave them in the comment area (you’ll see it either just below this story, or there will be a link to it next to the title at the top of the page.)

Cube-dwellers Unite!