The Cube Lady Wins. (As We Knew All Along She Would.)

There might be too many capital letters in that title. I can’t figure it out. The King will tell me.

I don’t know if I’ve said that I’m very fond of my Zen Alarm Clock, which provides a peaceful awakening via a series of acoustic chimes (there’s actually a chime inside the thing, and a striker) that never get louder, but get progressively closer together until you turn it off. You can choose a louder or quieter volume to begin with, and you can make it quieter still by closing the lid.

This is almost a miracle: Only ONCE since I got this thing have I stayed in bed until 5 p.m., and that’s because it takes perfect advantage of a quality I have in abundance, which is laziness. There is no snooze button! To turn it off, you actually have to sit up, pick it up, open the lid, and push a button. Then, if you wished to snooze, you’d have to reset the alarm.

Well, who is going to do all that? By the time I got through resetting the alarm, I’d be wide awake, so it has become my habit just to get up when I turn the alarm off.

I’m sorry to say I have exhausted my appeals with the Cube Lady, and I have to move back to the bad cube at work next week. Part of the problem with that cube is that another group had placed their filing system and some other stuff in the back of it—it’s quite a long cube that terminates in a huge window (yes, I’m complaining about a cube with a huge window); evidently the other group felt that the bonus yardage was fair game, and every time they visited their stuff, they were basically standing behind me, which eroded privacy significantly.

Another problem: Again because of that extra length, there is a gap near the window end of the cube that allows passing into the cube beyond. Once or twice when I was sitting there before, someone came strolling through that gap; one person actually picked someone up that was on my desk and said, “Oh, you have one of these?” Good lord!

Basically, that cube is like wearing a too-small hospital gown and knowing people can see your bare butt (assuming that while you’re wearing this too-small gown, someone nearby is masticating energetically).

You might think I’d feel resentful of the Cube Lady, but my feelings about her are more complex—I’ve come to admire her no-nonsense style. When we were touring the new cube together, I asked if the gap could be plugged and she firmly said no, the company would not be paying for that, but she went on to suggest that I just get a second filing cabinet and put it front of the gap. Brilliant!

Not only that, she located one on the same floor and said to email the properties people and request that this filing cabinet be moved into my new cube.

Not only THAT, but she went and visited the other group and told them to get their stuff out of my cube immediately, and with her foot, drew a line to indicate that my territory goes all the way to the window, no ifs, ands or buts.

The other group, needless to say, moved their stuff and now none of them are speaking to me, but they’ll come around sooner or later, I imagine.

(Or perhaps not. I told Tom that I had to move back to the bad cube, but that I imagined I’d eventually get used to the sound of the guy eating. Tom said gently but with certainty that, no, he would not tend to think I would ever get used to it.)

On top of everything else, the new cube is currently being used as a computer graveyard. I was in such a good mood after the Cube Lady’s disciplining of the other group that I volunteered to place a request to have the stuff disposed of. To make a long story short, this ended with my losing my temper with someone I felt should come and get the stuff; he didn’t concur.

“OK, I’m going to put it in the hallway and forget about it,” I said, already mad.

It seemed a bit unfair that I have to move to a cube I don’t want to move to and on top of that, have to be personally responsible for boxing up a bunch of stuff I physically can’t lift and that I have nothing to do with.

The person I was talking to said, “You’re going to create big legal problems for the company! You could get in serious trouble! You’re doing something very wrong.” I mean, really.

“What is it that I’m doing? I’m sitting in my cube talking on the phone.”

“You’re doing—”

“I’m not doing anything. I’m sitting in my cube talking on the phone.”

“You’re going to—”

“Thanks very much. I’m afraid I have to be going now,” and then I hung up before I raised my voice (any further). That is: ugh.

That is: this whole cube thing absolutely has three sixes on it, but there’s nothing I can do.

As it turned out, the Cube Lady even came through in regard to the computer graveyard—she said that when the movers were there stealing the—I mean, moving the second filing cabinet from its present location (her idea, not mine), I should also have them dump the equipment in some other empty cube.

I like the idea of using the chewing sound as an opportunity for practice—what is this moment like, this moment with this chewing sound?—but I’m prepared to resort to noise-canceling headphones.