I’m all for cubicle-to-cubicle conversation. It’s healthy; it keeps one sane in the midst of a cube-jungle corporate office. However, when you happen to sit between the verbal cubicles (whose occupants are not on your team), and when the conversation floating above your head turns for the third time to how incredibly “dreary” (“I just get the urge to walk in there and splash yellow paint all over the walls!”), and “gloomy” (“I just think of death the entire time i’m there!”) the local neighborhood funeral parlor is, at that point i think you should keep it in your own damn box. And it’s only 8:20 … not to mention that i don’t think they saw the subtle irony of me blasting “God” through their entire conversation to try to down them out.


Ahh… office life. A fuller treatise still forthcoming.