Here read the true tales of a young twenty-something cubicle dweller by day - dreamer of “there’s got to be more than this” by night - trying to find the moral of her everyday story. Walk with Jackie down cubicle lane as she humorously shares the pitfalls and high points of moving to a new city for her first job, building a life post 5 o’clock, and searching for meaning in every crevice of her stu-stu studio.

Dear Fellow Millenials,

What about not doing your job and still being paid for it? As much as I tried to fill the shoes of an Education & Programs Assistant during the beginning phase of my new job, I was bored and left unattended (baby’s bassinet floating in Cubicle #8032) while my boss, who was also new, tried to find her bearings in our newly created department. Can’t something be old or borrowed or blue?

I tried to pass time perusing the company’s internal library of online resources. After reading an article on how to draft a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) and another on the do’s and dont’s of negotiation, I resorted to peeling off old scotch tape from the surface of my desk. Then, I turned my attention to things like building mechanics and co-worker dispositions.

Spin Me Right Round, Baby, Right Round

Those initial mornings when I entered the building where I toiled, I met the weird stare of the security guard on duty. Observant one that I am (sometimes), I realized that others entered the building using the standard pull/push doors while I utilized the more ornate revolving door. Was it just there for decoration? Did I appear like a hillbilly just being introduced to her Beverly? Not one to cave in to peer pressure, I revolved the heck out of that contraption. What would you have done?

Elevator Ecstasy

The same security guard must have had a magical button behind her desk, because the elevator doors opened and the bell would ding the moment I appeared before them. Her timing…ohhh her timing. The first time I witnessed this simple miracle, I called home (story of my life).

“Mom, want to hear something amazing?” Then I’d reveal the elevator trick.

Each remaining day of that first month:

“Mom, guess what?”

Mom: “What, Sweetie?”

“She did it again.”

It’s All Relative

I’d like you to meet some characters who were integral members of my work family:

Top Gun
My boss – I called her Magnum. Why? Because she was a pistol. A tough cookie - the toughest - a biscotti if you will. She’s the type of person who thought that being born in New York made her somehow cooler than people born elsewhere. I was born in South Beach, a place that exudes pretentiousness, and I’m not cool by birth. Not one bit. I was the president of the National Honor Society in high school. Brace yourself…and the president of the National Junior Honor Society in middle school. Birthplace is bologna.

Dark-humored Dan
Armed with a very dark brand of humor, Dark-humored Dan added just the right amount of bitter and spice to the workplace. If Magnum asked him to do something, he’d respond with, “Sure, but can I poke my eye out first?” or, “Do you mind if I kill myself after?” In the midst of stuffing envelopes for two days straight, he turned to me and said, “I think it would be more fun if I lit myself on fire.”

The “Male” in Mailman
I’m pretty sure I could have broken the office no-dating policy with Renaldo, the middle-aged, heavy-set resident mailman. While I didn’t receive a single piece of mail in my first few months, Renaldo never failed to park his mail cart next to my cubicle and say, “Let’s see if we got anything for you today,” with an exaggerated nod of his head, a raised brow and (if some higher power really wanted to punish me) a lick of his lips.

Hi-dee-ho, Friendly Neighbor
Just over the shared wall of my cubicle sat someone who I will always regard fondly as “Neighbor.” Early on, I was terribly impressed by her phone etiquette. I also heard Neighbor talk to her dad often and thought to myself, she can’t get through the day without a phone call home either? We were like the TV sitcom Home Improvement, only separated by a fabric partition instead of a wooden fence.

After a few weeks, I felt like I knew Neighbor really well despite having never spoken to or seen her. I had no legitimate reason to walk down her row of cubicles, so how would I ever see the face behind this now familiar voice? When curiosity eventually lit a fire under my seat, I opted to take the longest and most indirect route to the restroom (loo) and there she be. Definitely a face a cubicle neighbor could love.

Any Neighbors in your world?

Wandering yuppie,
Jackie

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