I got moved to a different cubicle in my office. I really liked my old cubicle...I called it my cubelet, because it was super tiny. But it was at the back of the office and was up against the wall, so no one came back there unless they needed to see me.
This new cubicle blows. I know in the grand scheme of things it's not a big deal. I've got a job, which is more than I can say for 3/4 of the people that used to work here with me. There was another layoff last Friday, so my complaint today is very petty. I know this. But I'm going to bitch about it anyway. That's just the way I roll.
The chick two cubicles down from me has apparently never heard of an ipod. She has a boom box on her desk and the volume is way higher than what is considered appropriate for a cube farm. Seriously? A boom box? Damn, I had one of those when I was 13 years old and I used to play Mr. Mister and Lisa Lisa and Wham on it. I used to tape record songs off the radio on it. Then I would cover myself in Johnson's baby oil, carry my boom box outside and listen to my taped radio songs while I tanned on my mom's plastic lawn recliner.
Today she is listening to The Counting Crows cd. Over and over and over. I remember the Counting Crows. It was 1996 and I was in college and I had a huge crush on a guy we called "Beamer" and I used to watch videos with him in between classes and he loved that song Mr. Jones. I have heard Mr. Jones four times today.
I'm about to send her this email....tell me if you think it's too much.
Listen bitch, the mid-90's were not the best time for me. Your stupid cd is giving me flashbacks to an abusive relationship, an unrequited love, poor class attendance and fat pants. Please, for the love of all that is good and holy....turn that shit off!
I wonder how many times you can listen to Round Here before you want to shoot someone in the face?
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2 comments:
Once, I could hear that song once and then I'd tie my flannel around my waist and kick her ass.
Oh wait... 96... no... I'd put on my fat pants and my halter top, with my visor kicked to the side, I'd drop a hit and then challenge her to a dance off, while I sported a teddy bear in my back pocket and my boyfriend was spinning records.
I think that we should trade jobs!
You could replace me and listen to 50's, 60's and piano music, listen to people talk about their shit, cough and sneeze on you, pull pocket lint out and put it on the counter with their change, or better yet, the change from the bottom of the purse with wrapper on it...And I'll sit next to the 90's bitch because the Counting Crows beat "Wait a minute, Mr. Postman......ANY DAY!! Sorry about your move. Look on the bright side!!
Bring your favorite CD in tomorrow and ask her to play it all day or you'll bitch-slap her!!?? Just a thought!!
Hugs!!
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