Six of Nine

This was my daytime home for six years. Six years. Most people don't stay with the same company for that long anymore, let alone in the same cubicle. Most of the people in my department were here when we moved into this space.

"Remember when we moved in here, and raided the upstairs floor for cubicle parts because we all wanted those cool accessory panels? I still have to have a coat hook over the side of one wall so that it'll stay in place."

"Remember when we set spring-loaded confetti traps in that office so that confetti would shoot out every time our old boss opened the door? Wish I'd know that was going to be my office when he left..."

"Remember when we stole all those desk lamps? It's amazing. We've been using them for six year and none of the bulbs burned out. Good lamps. I'm moving mine myself. I don't want anyone to steal it."

We've been a happy team for a long time. I've been with the company for almost nine years. That's today's gratitude. If I haven't said it before, here it is.

Gratitude: I'm grateful for my job and the people who work with me. They're an important part of my life.

But now, with a week and a half's distance between us, I'm happy to say that I don't feel that way about that cubicle. It looks pretty crappy with everything stripped out of it. If I were being honest about it, it didn't look much less crappy before I vacated it. I thought I was going to miss it, and I didn't want to move to the new floor, with the high-walled workspaces and no windows visible from my chair. I was wrong. My new workspace kicks ass.


The picture doesn't do its awesomeness justice, but trust me. It's awesome. This is easily the best space they've ever put us in. I have room to hang artwork, and I have this cool little space for my fountain.

It's all good. I need to get a little tray for my tea and water area, and then the decorating will be complete.
Even the boys have a place of pride on the bookshelf.

Oh, and I stole a schefflera from the old floor. Maybe six years from now, we'll be saying, "Hey, remember when we moved down here, and we stole all of those potted plants from the old floor, and you rolled that gigantic ficus across the courtyard on an office chair?"

Remember when I said that I thought there was a conspiracy afoot to keep me from enjoying a crisp, cold Coca-Cola? This is the reason, this monster of plastic and steel. It decides, seemingly at random, whether or not what you really need is a Diet 7up. You press the Coke button, it's a 50/50 shot that you'll get a Diet 7up. You press the Diet Dr. Pepper button, same thing. The guy in the next cube put a dollar in the machine once and, without pressing ANY buttons, got a Diet 7up. "It just shot it at me and spit out my change. I swear I didn't press anything. I think it's possessed."


Luckily, the movers gave us the machines from the other lunch room. How do I know? Don't they all look the same? I know, because I heard this from the team across the lobby from us. "I think that machine's trying to tell me I have a fat ass! I pressed the button for Pepsi, and it gave me a Diet 7up!"