Living in a Cube, Cube World

I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work.

Office Space, 1999

I work in an environment where the only people with offices are managers. Fine, whatever, they get to make the hard decisions so they deserve walls that go all the way up to the ceiling and a door that shuts. The rest of us are in cubicles.

Take a look at this site and you'll get an idea of what it's like at the bank.

DON'T GO PASSED THE HOME PAGE.

You'll see some text that says "Or Create a Corporate Labyrinth One Cube at a Time," and then the camera will slowly pan out to give you an expansive look at what my floor at the bank looks like.

As you can see there isn't a lot of privacy and sadly we do not get to choose our neighbors. I currently sit next to a woman who would fill (or overfill) Dolores Umbridge's shoes quite nicely.

Aside from her condescending tone I am blessed with the fact that this woman does not know how the phone works.

She is so loud that I recently turned to a co-worker and said, "Jesus! What . . . does she think she's using tin cans and string?"

Which led to some emails between a co-worker of mine that started with me writing:

Tin Cans and String - that is so going to be the name of my first album.

E replied: Oooh, tell me it's going to be some pissed-off, spoken word shit.

From there E and I started writing "poetry" for said album.

I came up with:

Your voice accosts me.
The listener is helpless:
Until you are stabbed.

E's contribution?

Lotus Blossoms

Ding Dang haunts my dreams
cramped in smoky rooms she sounds
pop, pop, click, ping pong.

EA

Genius.

Thanks E for making my days at the bank a little more bearable.