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Workplace Sabotage
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That rat's maze — known to the big-wigs as the Modular Office System — has made the transition from cost-saving necessity to corporate standard. Proof? It's the foundation of the entire Dilbert Empire.
If you're like me, you've read the Dilbert cartoons and shared a knowing chuckle. But in the end, most of us find we have to purchase the little desktop Dilbert calendar because you just can't stick anything to those damn padded walls.
I consider myself quite lucky. I spend the majority of my time as a techie-geek in a smallish, sparsely decorated office. It's not lavish by any means, but it's my area and I'm quite fond of it. However, my job requires me to travel to client sites for extended periods of time and, as is the territory of technical consulting, the client usually jams me into the smallest and least accommodating space they can clear out.
| "It's not the cell that gets to you. It's the cellmates." |
The last dozen or so trips I've made, I've been tucked into a cube. Some of them have been upper-class cubes with built in shelves and an ergonomic computer area. But the majority of them have been color-neutral, four-foot-high padded walls with those extra-harsh florescent lights built in. Now, I can work in this area. Most of the time. However, I've come to realize that it's not the cell that gets to you. It's the cellmates.
No matter how hard upper-management may try to dictate the corporate personality of their employees, they simply cannot stop real life from trickling in. I've seen ultra-professional firms turn into a twisted version of MTV's "The Real World" in suits, because of the lack of respect that comes from people sharing a common area who aren't necessarily good at doing so.
The best thing you can do if you find yourself with an annoying cubemate or neighbor is to have a polite and well-meaning conversation with this person in an effort to work out your differences. But that's no fun. Furthermore, some people find the confrontation worse than the victimization. So here's a smattering of advice for dealing with the most common varieties of animals I have found myself teamed with.
The Loudmouth
The most prevalent assault in a common environment is the noise. One trip to DC found me in a four-person cube with a deadwood sales jockey who, every hour, received a call from one of his buddies and proceeded to detail the events of his personal life at top volume. I swear, I heard about his damn fishing trip eight times one Monday. Furthermore, every time he left the area to get a coke or whatever, his other two cubemates would turn to one another and complain in hissing whispers, comparing plans of how they would get their revenge. So finally, when Dr. Loudtalker went to lunch the next day, I snuck over to his desk and reprogrammed his phone. I don't recommend this — well actually, I do — but I'm not supposed to. Here's a tip for you low-tech types: A phone can be easily reprogrammed with a pair of wire cutters.
Yesterday's Leftovers
"Her lunch didn't smell too bad, actually.
Until the fourth day." |
On a week-long stint in New York, I was plopped into a cube next to a nice woman who, when lunchtime came around, microwaved some sausage-and-potato concoction she had whipped up the night before and returned to our little area to eat. Her lunch didn't smell too bad, actually. Until the fourth day. She had been bringing in a fresh container filled with the same meal each day and piling the empty microwave bowls on her filing cabinet. With only dividers separating us, the new smell that wafted over the walls evolved into a damp version of the old smell. The neat thing was that I lost three pounds on that trip from skipping lunch every day.
You're Not Busy, Are You?
The best thing about a door is that, when necessary, it can be closed. I've found that at every company, no matter the size or profession, there's always one joker no one wants to talk to. And this guy always finds me. I've heard stories ranging from mishaps in wisdom teeth extraction to why the NASCAR points scale is rigged. This is a situation where talking, if you can get a word in, does no good. But here's a neat trick: Every time a visitor shows up unannounced and starts yammering on about last night's episode of Ally McBeal, ask them to go and get you something. Coffee, paper clips, a steak sandwich, anything. They'll either get tired of your demands or think you're a jerk. Either way, mission accomplished.
The Deejay
Again, here's a situation that's perfectly acceptable until someone goes overboard. Most computers have CD-ROM drives these days and you can usually plug a set of headphones right into the drive and play your Pure Disco or Country Greats or Yanni, whatever your pleasure. It's usually when someone brings in a radio that the peace starts to deteriorate. If your neighbor is spinning something like banjo music or Celine Dion, only all-out covert warfare will do. Whenever they leave, sneak over to his or her cube and turn the volume all the way up. Let someone else complain.
Sure, these remedies may be underhanded and a little less than professional, but it is my utmost belief that you have to fight fire with fire. After all, if you've ever seen any episodes of "The Real World," you know how well the heart-to-heart fares with the unspeakably rude. One more thing — if you do employ any of these tactics, you never read this column.
Joe Procopio writes a monthly column for Smug. He also authors novels, sings in a pop band, and slings technology like a toddler with a rifle, all of which is enumerated on his Web site. He has no spare time.
© 1998 Tripod, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
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