Close Quarters versus Closed Quarters

Having recently rejoined the work force, I finally became accustomed to the usual politics, ethics and process of working in an office setting. Urinating in a Styrofoam dixie cup in front of the Human Resource officer at my new job, should have been a clue to this child of the eighties that I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Privacy in the work force is dead. Close Quarters are now politically correct. Strike One: I couldn't produce urine. Strike two: I had to hum 'Day-O' to produce urine. Strike three: I peed on my new nylons. Dammit. Five dollars spent at Rite Aid down the toilet, literally.

My first day of reconnecting to what my mother calls 'The real world' was spent getting eyeballed by my future coworkers as they filed and searched for medical records in comfortable scrubs. While they disiphered just who the hell I was and if I'd cut the mustard, I was making a grave office fashion fopa. I was in heels, wearing a skirt, blouse and new nylons. I didn't get the dress code memo of 'office casual, scrubs acceptable' and spent most of the my first work day, trying to bend in a ladylike manner without giving the sparse male co-workers a peep show into old lady town. All this being accomplished while answering to the code name: "New girl." Hey, at my age, anything with "girl" addressed to me will get my employer a twelve-hour day for a minimum wage.

Three months later and I gotta tell you, me likey this job. It is tedious, fast-paced and bonus: Everyone at work is fabulous! I may still be in the honeymoon phase, but my boss is cream of the crop and everyone works very hard at their job. I have yet to note pettiness, gossip, the office slut, the office tattletale, you know? The usual suspects of today's office counterparts.

My sister, Lynn is not so fortunate. She's been in her current position for several years. Besides the fact that hers isn't just a job, it's a career. She takes it very seriously, having acquired a BA and finding her niche, her reward is working in financial services for a noted Charity and dealing with an odd co-worker directly next to her cubicle. Scratch that, he's not just odd. He’s a whack job.

I can remember back in the day, when an office space consisted of four walls and a door. A good solid door which encompased four glorious walls that kept the weirdos at bay. Visits would be on a limited basis. No one knew that your co-workers picked their nose in the privacy of their offices, talked endlessly with family members, looked through the JC Penny Catalog for eight hours, worked a half hour and got paid for an entire day of work. Now we have cubicles, not much privacy and big brother surfing your computer for internet abuse.

Lynn's co-worker has a creepy, disarming affection for Lynn. Her antennae are up around this guy and she wisely divulges scant views of her life to him. Being a private person anyway, Lynn discloses little about herself which, to some sensitive folks comes off as snobby. "Bob" (name changed to protect the guilty) has decided that Lynn doesn't share enough about herself to him and he reported her to their supervisor. The supervisor conferred with Lynn and has demanded that Lynn be more soft-spoken with "Bob" and forego the sharp replies to his prying questions she also must be more open with "Bob." Given the ridiculousness of the situation, Lynn has no choice but to adhere to her supervisors wishes. I'm sure if that if Lynn warranted the situation and if we hadn't come up with the idea listed in the following paragraphs, Lynn would take it to the next level. She doesn't take any crap.

Lynn’s reprimand is yet another sad commentary on what American workforce has become. Oh, big Brother isn't just watching... he is demanding that the working person act as the Chinese demanded their people for the Olympics this year: Pleasantries only. Must be kind, loving, appear as an open book. Hey, it's the year of the Rat after all. Wealth, charm, and most important, Order. An office certainly can't operate without order, and personal differences create conflict. So mind your "P"s and "Q"s, smile, conform, initiate redundant conversation so you may ease your whacked out co-workers brains that they are part of your life. Life+Job=order.

As most of you have discovered Lynn and I are best friends, we share everything. I have heard her complaints of "Bob" over the last few years, they had become worse and more concerning. This new complaint tops it off. There was only one thing to do:
Revenge.

My suggestion was to embrace the new Lynn. Pull "Bob" aside and confess that she has a fetish. "Bob, I have to tell you something a little personal and well, I really don't want anyone else to know about it, so please, whatever you do, don't tell people that...
Whenever someone takes off their shoes, even in the brake room, I have an overwhelming urge to reach over, grab their shoes and give it a good, long sniff. It takes everything in my power to not do that very thing during a meeting. I've had this horrible affliction since childhood." Pause for dramatic affect, fake a sniff and snob then, "Oh, it feels so good to get it off my chest. Thank you "Bob". Thank you for listening."

Lynn topped it off with something better and perhaps easier to prove in front of "Bob" because God forbid, he reach down and offer his destestable shoes for her to carry out her compulsive crime.

"OH no, I got it," Lynn laughed triumphantly, trying to contain herself, "I could tell him, in the same manner, maybe when Mona(Name changed to protect the guilty) my supervisor goes to lunch, that 'when no one is looking,
I secretly take out the lean cuisines and frozen entrees in the staff room
... and lick the tops of the plastic covering and their boxes."


Our office spaces have become almost intrusive. In some offices, pictures and personal items must be approved before placing them on the cardboard surface of the cubicle. Freedom of speech and expression has defined rules and regulations. All that pent up energy has to go somewhere.

So be weary people, do you really want to know everything about your co-workers? Is it wise for us to check all the internet sites our quiet co-workers roamed in order to ascertain that they aren't surfing porn, but they have visited the Hello Kitty site far too many times for normal people in their forties? How about the fact that the new divorcee has the Jonas Brothers clip art on her desktop? Is it healthy to be inches away from a chronic nose picker, wihtout kleenex and suddenly, your cubicle is looking a tad green? And, is it me, or do the Lean Cuisines and Smart Balance entrees really have a layer of refridgerator condensation, or is it something else?

Just remember; still waters lick deep.

All rights reserved/Wycoff August 2008