I’m convinced there are aliens looking down on Windward Parkway in befuddled amazement. They are studying us and our ways, and cubicle life on Windward has them completely dumbfounded.
Millions of square feet of indoor space remains empty most of the time, except for about fifty hours a week. It is during those times that the mass migration occurs. Even though Alpharetta is a moderate sized city, tens of thousands of people drive scores of miles to get here. From all over metropolitan Atlanta they come. They drive vehicles that hold four or more people, yet they ride alone on overcrowded roads. By the time they arrive, they are already frazzled and ticked off.
They walk past security guards as they enter the buildings. I suppose someone of authority thinks unauthorized people actually want to enter these buildings. Nevertheless electronic credentials are flashed and folks enter. Next they navigate an endless maze of walls only five feet tall. Finally they arrive at a space marked 5B069 on a sticker left by the networking guys.
Next they enter their own little world. It’s fifty square feet that belongs almost exclusively to them. They are surrounded on four of six sides by what is essentially rigid carpet. Privacy? Almost nonexistent. The fabric walls are dingy and dirty from years of occupants long gone. They’ll spent over two thousand hours a year in these pale neutral colored confines.
A zipper opens a bag and reveals a mobile computing device. It is a wonder of technology that includes the capability of wireless connectivity. Yet it is of little need because they connect it to a dizzying array of wires. Those wires connect it to routers, which are connected to more routers, which are eventually connected to nearly every computer on the planet. While it is booting up, the employee removes a small black iPhone from their pocket. This is not a company-issued or approved device, yet its somewhat limited technology is used beyond its means to communicate trivial personal details over Twitter and Facebook. A greater level of collaboration is achieved with this device in ten minutes than in eight hours working in the cubicle (even though they collaborate about the meatloaf dinner from last night).
Once the laptop computer is finished booting up, this person uses it to communicate with other employees, over a wire, to the adjacent fabric covered box. This communication continues for hours and hours, using technology that is decades old, running on a computer capable of putting a man on the moon… wirelessly. The employees labor to produce software that is used internally by other cubicle critters in unseen parts of the building. These other workers curse the software for being prone to defects and otherwise difficult to use. Little do they know that the people responsible for making it sit yards away and are just as miserable in their cubicle-bound careers.
Steven Hawking recently said we should be fearful of possible alien contact. I’m not losing any sleep over it. After witnessing the above, the little green men probably think we are all morons. Soon they’ll move forward with plans to enslave us to do their work. I just hope they give me an office with a door.
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Rough Day?
Long time reader, first time caller. (just play along)
Nice post. One thing. Why do cubicle dwellers insist on wearing their security badges when they go out for lunch (or even worse; still wearing it if going out for dinner)?
There’s no need to advertise your slavery. We don’t need to know where you work. We don’t need to know that your job is so bad that you have to go through metal detectors to get in the building.
Just liberate yourself for your lunch hour (minus the 37 minutes you spend answering emails on your crackberry.)
OK. Now I feel better.
I assure you, we’re not trying to advertise our slavery. The rules of the cubicle world require us to wear our badge in a conspicuous place throughout the day. It is just easier to not take it off. You run the risk of losing it at lunch or leaving it in the car. Then you’ll be the poor schmuck who is asking for the visitor badge at the security desk.
The next time you see a cubicle dweller having lunch on Windward Parkway, have pity on him. He might be me!
Thanks for reading!
-Lee
I’m just saying. Put it in your pants’ pocket for the hour. I know, it’s some extra effort better spent on Twittering how your breakfast went down. Still. Try it. Just once. That might make you (feel like) a new man.
PS: Unfortunately, we’ll still know you’re a cubicle dweller. So easy to spot: Move in packs; docker pants – clean jeans for the wild ones; phone on a holster (sure way to ID the real geek IT people).
Still. Just do it. We like you anyway for keeping the economy rolling.
In honor of you, I pocketed my badge today for lunch with my wife. Even tweeted about it!
That’s one small step for a man; one giant leap for mankind.
One cube at a time. Onward and forward. Stick it to the man!
Lee, you bring back all those (fond?) memories I had of corporate life. You forgot to mention birthdays at work. Everyone files into the conference room in zombie-like formation. Happy Birthday, Blah Blah, Cake, goodbye – Ah…good times.
Happy Birthday, blah blah, Happy Birthday, blah blah!
Now, here’s your unbelievably sugary cake we got in special from Costco. If you think you’ve seen sugar highs with your kids, wait ’til you eat this. Enjoy. Hope your physical is not tomorrow.
PS: yeah – and they always find some lame excuse to lure you to the conference room.
Listen. I’m not 6 anymore. It’s my birthday. I know you’ll ‘surprise’ me. Drop the charade already!
I kinda like Costco cakes. I’m strange like that.
This birthday tradition happens in my group as well. The best part is when you’re having the cake and the middle manager who put it together suddenly realizes that he/she missed someone’s birthday who is in attendance. In a poor attempt to save face, the “party” and cake is now for two people, right?
Awesome stuff. This needs a blog post of its own.
Kinda like Costco cakes?
Now we know why you huff and puff just looking at the Greenway.