Welcome to Life in the Cube

Change is supposed to be a good thing. Just ask the baby with a loaded diaper. I don't mind change as long as it's loose and causes cans to fall out of the soda machine. But a recent change in my work environment unleashed a surprising sea of emotion.

A misunderstanding led me to believe I needed to move out of my cozy little office at the back of the building into a cubicle next to the lobby. I had been in my office for 10 of the nearly 20 years I've been at my job. It became somewhat of a sanctuary when office politics became overwhelming or when certain coworkers became unbearable. Now my office was needed as a small conference room, which is what it used to be before I moved in.

Trying to be the obedient worker drone I said yes when my boss asked me to make the move. A few days later, she informed me that it was "just a question" and not a directive. Funny how one message comes out of one person's mouth and enters another person's ear completely different.

This happened at a particularly challenging time when the inability to meet deadlines on the part of others became emergencies on my part. Bogged down with work, I was unable to really think about moving out of my office. The enormity of this change hit me when I got out of a meeting one morning and the entire contents of my office were now placed in the cubicle. The lack of privacy and sense of loss hit me hard. As one sympathetic friend said, "Welcome to Life in the Cube!"

Day One in the Cube

Trying to look on the bright side. More square footage allows me to spread my stuff out. There's nothing like having a place for 20 years of accumulated stuff. Wait! Where the hell is my stapler? I move 20 feet from my office to the Cube and I lose a stapler? What happened to that manila envelope I need to take to a meeting tonight? Aaargh.

Day Two in the Cube

Attempted to participate in a webinar without real walls and a door. Distractions abound! People talking on all sides of my Cube. Foot traffic in and out of my boss's door. Got to put on the headphones. Dang! Volume is redlining and I can still hear all the noise. Frustration sets in and I log out of webinar. Good thing I bought the downloads so I can watch later. In an enclosed space.

Day Three in the Cube

Requested an additional panel to block distracting foot traffic passing my Cube on the way to boss's door. Unfortunately, the Cube panels are not high enough to prevent my taller coworkers from peeking over at me like an army of "Killroy Was Here" characters. (Now there's a Google-worthy 1970s reference!)

Day Four in the Cube

Talking to business associate on phone. Suddenly the entire staff gathers in the lobby, whispering. Looks like they're getting ready to sing Happy Birthday to big boss. What? He's not in his office? Must be in the men's room, which is right next to my Cube. I hear shuffling around and muted giggles. Suddenly 15 questionable warblers burst into song as big boss exits the men's room. This effectively ends my phone conversation. (Insert heavy sigh here.)

By the end of the work week, I was emotionally drained. It surprised me how moving from one space to another could affect me so deeply. I've had challenges in life before and either handled them well or completely fell apart. For the sake of my sanity and because I am a woman of faith, I resolved to believe that God has a plan for me that doesn't include four walls and a door. Why should I complain about where in the office I do my job when I am blessed to actually have a job? And though a misunderstanding with my boss precipitated this move, she is still an awesome boss. So with the Lord by my side and a steady supply of dark chocolate, I will embrace my new life in the Cube. Just know that if you peek over my Cube panels, you do so at your own risk.

Out of the jury pool, into the sea of humanity

Today I appeared in court for jury duty, fulfilling my obligation as a proud citizen of this country, resident of this state, and because fear of a bench warrant kept my rebellious nature in check.

This was only my second time as a potential juror. The first time - some 13 years ago - ended quickly as it began. I was newly pregnant among four similarly endowed women in the jury pool. After hearing three pregnancy related sob stories, the judge dismissed me with a wave of his hand before I could even finish my tale of morning sickness woe. This time, I had no such excuse.

Today's jury selection process involved such a hodge-podge of humanity. If this was supposed to be a jury of peers, just what exactly did it say about the plaintiff in the case? I'm sure some looked at me as an aging goth, but others would have been difficult for me to sit with in a closed room, let alone deliberate a verdict.

There was the perky substitute teacher whose sunny disposition made Mary Poppins look like a suicidal emo. If she wasn't grinning, she was giggling while I sat next to her suppressing the urge to gag. Then came macho guy with attitude who was quickly dispatched to the bench for a whispered dressing-down by the judge. As if by some cosmic retribution, Mr. Macho and his attitude ended up in among the final 12 jurors.

But my favorite jury pool compadre was the tall, curvy brunette who tossed back her full head of curly hair and told the judge, "Your Honor, I'm getting married on Saturday (insert pause for drama) and start chemotherapy on Monday." The judge bought it and frankly, I would have excused her too, whether her statement was true or not. She gets kudos for creativity, delivery, and stage presence.

The whole jury selection was a long, drawn out process which thankfully for me, ended before lunch. When the 12 jurors were seated along with the alternates I was ecstatic. I didn't have to feign mental illness as one friend urged. I didn't have to bring up the fact that I have an unfinished root canal that needs attention this week. And I didn't have to faint from hunger, which was quickly becoming an issue as the morning wore on.

I am done with jury duty for now. Tagged and released from the jury pool into the sea of humanity. And if my track record holds, it will be another decade before I am summoned again. Just look for the crazy old lady dressed in black.

TV commercials not ready for prime time

The proliferation of male enhancement commercials on TV recently leads me to believe we are a nation of overstressed men who can't lift the garage door anymore. I don't really care, since I was born without the part in question and raising the bar was never an issue personally. What I do care about is my kids being exposed to these commercials during prime time and on the weekends. No longer are "adult" commercials relegated to late, late night viewing.

What do you do when your nine year old daughter sees a Cialis commercial on TV and the following conversation ensues,
"Mommy, what's an erection?"

"Uh...it's when a man's, you know, wing-wing, uh, gets bigger."

"Mommy, it's not a wing-wing, it's a penis! Why would a man want his penis to get big?"

Lots of answers race through your mind when faced with that question:

"It makes him happy."

"It's a guy thing"

"Ask your father!"

I hate to admit, I took the easy way out..."Just because! Hey, let's see if Hannah Montana is on right now!"

My son seems slightly amused by the whole male enhancement thing. His reaction to one of those "natural" male enhancement commercials featuring Bob as an insanely happy Santa and his incredibly giddy wife, is typical for a 13 year old. "Hehe! He said 'sackful of joy'."

Now I am by no means a prude and I intend to have "the talk" with my kids one of these days when my calendar clears. (February 2011 looks good right now.) I just don't appreciate all of this talk of "erections lasting more than four hours" being thrust upon me, demanding explanations from two curious kids.

I will tell them such intimacy is truly a gift from God that you share with your spouse. I promise to use the correct terminology. (Wing wing and ching ching are off the vocab list.) I will tell them...honest! Or as one commercial says, "When the time is right."