Friday, February 3, 2012

The GM of Being Back in CL

As you may have noted, I've not been posting much lately...been too busy.

I'm back full-time with the government, in cubicle land. If you've never worked in CL, you are fortunate and ignorant of the way it can suck the life right out of you. Cubicles, to the uninitiated, are the crappy government equivalent to offices. Not.

The cubes are built of grey and purple (I kid not) fabric boards that are intended to form the impression of some sort of "office" space around you. The carpeting in this building is a frenetic zig-zaggy green, black and brown (again, no kidding. How could I make this up?) Filing cabinets are purple (not bright Barney purple, but a truly degrading tone of dullness...purple mixed with a lot of grey), walls are light grey or off-white, and the lighting is the coup-de-grace. Flourescent, hidden behind dimpled plastic covers. We all look ghastly ill, sickly with a sickliness that only the undead can appreciate.

Fail.

Fail. I had to repeat it.

I feel like I'm a miniature being, surrounded by vomit-toned leggo. The "walls" provide little privacy, due to the fact that they only reach about 5'6". So tall people can walk by and look right over into your cube. And of course, sound reaches you with crystal cubey clarity.

Then there's the fact that the cubes have no doors, so it's pretty much open air onto the "corridor" which is formed by the fabric walls of hundreds of cubes, all piled storey upon storey, like some creepy ant or termite hill housed in ash-grey, death-toned concrete.

I'm on the 4th floor of a 21-floor building, surounded by other tall and medium-tall buildings in a sprawling government complex in the middle of Kookytown. The complex was built in the 1960s-70s, and the architecture is particularly depressing (to my mind, anyway).

I wander through the acres of land making up this bureaucratic beehive (I walk to and from work, and try to get out at lunch-time, in a bid to retain sanity), jaw slack with disbelief, wondering at the moronic, dystopian mind-set that resulted in this: the ugliest, most inefficient, suicide-thought-inducing design of monstrous, ill-knit buildings, parking lots and grassy expanses (why are empty grass expanses with lone picnic tables dotting them so terrifyingly sad?).

Sigh.

To top it off, my cube neighbor is a troll. Like clock-work, every day, promptly at 9:30am, she pulls out a bag of raw carrots and begins crunching.

Due to the airy "ceiling" of CL, every chewing movement of her mandible is clearly available ad nauseum to my delighted ears. And oh, she chews.

She chews with vigour, with open-mouthed alacrity, and more-over, with such tenor it's frankly alarming. Hasn't she suffered hearing loss yet from a life-time of what is clearly a raucous (to put it mildly) business for her, the business of eating raw vegetables every morning? And who the hell eats carrot-sticks every single day at 9:30, anyway?

My cube-troll, that's who. Being back in CL is enough to bring on the GM.

No comments:

Post a Comment