The Razor's Edge

I work in a fairly large office comprised of a sea of cubicles. This is common in today's workplace. Of course this arrangement is accompanied with the normal annoyances. You have the people bringing in their disgusting lunches for consumption. No one is really sure if it's a botched dinner experiment or some regional delicacy from a place that you never want to visit. All you know is that it smells like burnt flesh. Or something equally heinous. (I know that most people don't have any idea what burning flesh smells like, but it ranks up there as one of the worst scents a person could ever be assaulted with experiencing--ever. Take my word on that one.) There's the random person that farts in their cube and hopes that no one will hear it. Then again, the point can be raised that it's not really a matter of HEARING it so much as smelling it. This rotten motherfucker knows what the fuck they ate the night before, but they think that they are somehow safe. Perhaps if they sit still in their chairs, the smell won't permeate the adjoining eight workspaces. The seat cushion will absorb it, right? Bullshit. This strategy never seems to work. There are the speakerphone concalls, and of course the "I haven't seen you in forever!" random visits. Why these people immediately forget that there are others doing work near them is beyond me. Haven't they ever heard of taking a person out to lunch? Catching up? That shit works too, you loud motherfucker.

Then again, those are mild in comparison to the razor. I've worked in many different parts of the country, but the razor seems to be primarily an east coast phenomenon. The razor is that one woman that happens to have the most annoying, whiny, nasally voice ever bestowed upon any individual that walks the Earth. You know it when you hear it. The first thing that comes to mind when I think of our office offender is Alanis Morisette's voice in the movie "Dogma." A full exchange could very well drive a man insane, or burst his eardrums at the very least. Every hello takes no less than a full five seconds. The hairs on your neck stand on end. She begins with the pleading cry of "Hiiiiiii, how are youuuuuuu!" as everyone else cringes. Sometimes you grab for a pen, in hopes that you can puncture both eardrums before the conversation continues. I could make the comparison between her voice and being catheterized, but that really does her no justice. She is an abomination to all office productivity. As I sit in my workspace plotting her untimely demise, the screech continues.

"I'm goooood, how's everythiiiiiing?"

The razor strikes again. I think back to the times when my mother used to say "If you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything at all." The razor didn't get that memo. Even when she's delivering good news, it sounds bad. As a matter of fact now that I think about it, everything sounds bad. Given the fact that I'm a watch-wearing basket case with a mild case of OCD, she could tell me what time it is and I want to punch her in the face. I know, anger management you say. I say fuck you. I'm venting.

Personally, I consider myself a good samaritan in some respects. If I hear someone talking too loud in their corner of the world, I do the neighborly thing and throw something at them. It's the least I can do. I figure if they can continue their bullshit conversation while being bombarded with random objects they deserve to continue. While juvenile and sometimes dangerous, this serves as an effective deterrent. To date, I'm only down a couple of Post-It pads and a stapler. Shit happens, but I digress.

I guess the worst part of it all, is that there are so many that have accepted the razor's behavior as the "cost of doing business." I have not. Then again, I guess that's why I've decided to go back to school. I have to climb the ladder, not for the love of money, but for my sanity. Leaving the corporate slums requires me to step my work game up considerably.

I'm up to the challenge.