The Pettiness Pending At Corporate Incorporated

Little Orphan Annie, as her name implies, was but a child. Her tomorrow’s were filled with her ever-loving dog, Sandy; with lollipops and candy and chasing rainbows till she found the old pot o’ gold.

I’m an adult. You’ll be very hard pressed to find me singing optimistic anticipatory songs about tomorrow, especially on Sunday nights. I've been working in the corporate world for some time now and the one thing I can say with all certainty is this: Corporate life, in a word, is absurd.

It’s not that I don’t like my job. On the contrary. While I can be insanely busy at times, the days go fast and I actually enjoy the work for the most part. It’s just the other part of my job I could do without.

The human beings.

Human beings have questions that don't need to be asked. They have problems they intend to make your problems. They have rude, obnoxious children that should be in full contraction. They have comments that don't need to be heard lest spoken. They freely offer advice after eavesdropping on your phone conversation. Some of them consider bathing and breath mints optional. They have a total disregard for your personal space.

I never really had a problem with these creatures before. Occasionally when I ventured outside my office on the way to the bathroom or copier, sure they'd be around. But I'd dodge them ever so carefully like they were land mines. But after the company I work for moved spaces in January, I have no office. I have no door. And now I'm surrounded.

Let me tell you a very distinct difference between having an office with a door and a cubicle. When you're in your office, even when the door's open, people are compelled to knock before entering. There's just something about a door that makes people stop even when it's opened. Since being sentenced to work in a cubicle, it's like being on Madison Avenue during lunch time. You can be slaving away, looking as serious as you wanna look, eyes straight ahead on your computer screen burning up the keyboard and one of them will just come along, plop their elbow down on the edge of your cube all comfy-like and just start up a conversation. And it's usually this guy: you know the person who, when you're having one of those really useless meetings that they tend to schedule toward the end of the day and you're trying to get the hell out, he's the human that when they ask "Does anyone have any questions?" his hand is always the one up. Usually he's asking a question that was just asked or answered but since he's working to 10pm for absolutely no reason, why not make everyone else just sit around anyway? So now he's at my cube.

"Yeah, so this weekend me and the wife blah, blah, blah."

Some years ago, when I was a New Jack, I might stop typing and feign interest. I might even look this person in the eye to give the impression I cared. That was then. Now, I don't have the time to pretend or unravel your logic. Now, I just keep typing. Then It looks over at my computer screen to see what I'm doing. In my office, I could easily switch Windows, no one knew what I was working on. Not in a cube. They could usually just look right at your computer screen.

"Hotmail, huh?"

I just keep typing.

I know he's still there, holding his cup of coffee in one hand, his other hand in his pocket. He's rocking back-and-forth nervously. He knows I heard him. I know he knows I know. At this point it's just a matter of wills. He sees someone else and heads their way to bother them.

"Hey Steverino!"

I live by the Dilbert Principle. If you're not familiar with the cartoon, Dilbert is a working guy, works in a cube, and after years on the job has gotten jaded by the whole corporate schtick. The rule he lives by is simply this: People are Idiots.

When I was 19 years old I was dating this girl in Boston. On weekends I would take the now defunct Trump Shuttle and see her. In Boston, people (especially white folks), have an infamous way of totally ignoring you. I'd be driving her car, get lost and ask for directions and not only wouldn't they answer me, they'd look right through me as if they didn't see me. (I wasted a lot of money when i was 19!)

Now, in retrospect, I'm thinking that it's not that those folks were raging redneck card carrying racists. But it's probably because they've spent considerable time working in Corporate America.

You see, for your own survival in the corporate world, your instincts eventually kick in to ignore people. It's like when you get real cold your body automatically starts to shiver in an attempt to generate heat; when you survive a plane crash, the guy that was sitting in the aisle seat only an hour ago starts to look like one of those Bugs Bunny chickens and you find yourself wanting to eat him. It's about survival, man!

True story: on Monday, February 13 of this year, I'm in the interview room with a candidate. All's well, I'm thinking where I might have room for this guy and then he asks me "So, do we get paid extra on our birthday?" He started saying something else but at that point my corporate survival instincts took over and all is dead silent. Without me even realizing I was doing it, I just calmly starting gathering my stuff - my papers, pens, business cards - looked through him, smiled, got up and left the interview room.

How was I supposed to answer that?!?

Also, it never hurts to let them think you're a little bit crazy. Not postal crazy. But just enough so they'll leave you alone and won't want to talk to you unless it's totally necessary. Every so often, about every quarter or so, I usually walk around with a legal pad, go up to a group of three or so humans and ask an insane question. Then I act like I'm jotting down their equally unintelligible answers and when they ask why I'm asking them I'll just mutter something like 'psychological profile' and walk away. That usually buys me about 2.5 months without having to deal with them. (Totally unassociated but going through the drive-through and stressing repeatedly that your order is "to go" is a good one too).

I work. You work. You know. There aren't nearly enough sick/vacation/personal/mental health days or Fridays. There's gonna be some call. Something. Some crack headish question. Some human being. A man. Someone's interning kid, an idiotic nephew, a manager that boasts how good she looks for 40 when you thought she was 55.

That's what's waiting for me tomorrow. And it's only a day away.