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?
On Becoming My Grandmother
1 month ago