“And I said, I don’t care if they lay me off either, because I told, I told Bill that if they move my desk one more time, then, then I’m, I’m quitting, I’m going to quit. And, and I told Don too, because they’ve moved my desk four times already this year, and I used to be over by the window, and I could see the squirrels, and they were married, but then, they switched from the Swingline to the Boston stapler, but I kept my Swingline stapler because it didn’t bind up as much, and I kept the staples for the Swingline stapler and it’s not okay because if they take my stapler then I’ll set the building on fire…”
If you work in an office, chances are you’re in a cubicle, and chances are if you’re in a cubicle, you’re in the new and improved cubicle. THE OPEN CONCEPT CUBICLE. *cue the violins*
This new phenomenon has just been rolled out the past couple of years to promote inter-departmental interaction and communication. I personally have to say that it blows. No, I take that back, it fucking blows. Statistics show that over 70% of us lowly worker bees are toiling away day in and day out in this open concept shit. 70%!?
The harsh realization is these open concepts do not promote productivity what so ever it actually hinders it. According to the Journal of Environmental Psychology, “Open-plan offices are equipped with barriers such as panels and bookshelves to induce the perception of a private workspace. Despite perceived privacy, irrelevant speech contributes to mental workload, poor performance, stress, and fatigue.” GO. FUCKING. FIGURE!
I can attest to that personally. I have this great big barrier around me. My own little closet with some drawers for my personal belongings. That doesn’t exonerate the overwhelming noise that I hear on a daily basis. Not only do I have to share a cubicle space with a woman who eats fucking carrots between the hours of 10-11am, I am positioned directly across from Customer Service. You know those people who answer phones all day screaming at FedEx for the packages to be delivered on time. I also happen to know literally every private detail about people I never knew existed. Every affair, every attempted sexual encounter, every marriage problem, every personal problem, every cat death…. I even know what day you go grocery shopping. Creepy isn’t it? I much rather miss the good old days that I didn’t know the lady in Accounting owned 30 parrots AND created a whole wing of her house for their existence. I just knew her as Susan. In the meantime until these companies get. a. clue. Im going to buy Beats by Dre headphones and create my own little world of boxes like poor Milton Waddums, and if they do try to take MY stapler I WILL BURN THIS BUILDING TO THE GROUND!