Cubicle Crimes
by Jessica Patient
Names have been changed to mask the guilty
Armed with an ironed pencil skirt, toned down to neutral make-up shades, non-offensive stud earrings and a briefcase with only jam sandwiches inside. I was a bundle of clichés. I strolled across town in my head was clogged up with sections from the employee handbook. I would have scooped the top prize if there were a game show on policies and procedures.
My boss, a balding man with his shirt unbuttoned, revealing fluffy chest hair, greeted me with a cracked tooth smile as he eyed me up and licked his lips. It was the sort of grin that would scare you away if you were in a bar.
“That’s a strong grip you’ve got there,” he said, staring at my chest as we stood in the sterile reception area. Neither a receptionist babbling office speak or a neglected spider plant occupied the vast space.
“It’s a sign of leadership,” he said still leering down my top.
First thing on my checklist for becoming a fully chartered office drone was a cup of tea. It was a kitchen stuck in the nineties grey nightmare: passive aggressive posters clung on tea-stained doors commanding people to bin their leftovers and faded motivational posters. Regimented rows of identical pint glasses and plain grey generic mugs filled the cupboards. There was no thought about which pint glass was the most appealing. I needed a drink before I dehydrated in the airtight office and fainted within the confusing maze of cubicles.
My allocated workstation was tucked out of the way in a corner. Partition walls penned me in on three sides with only a small exit gap. Or entrance gap depending on your philosophy on the whole half full, half empty approach to life. Only a computer monitor sat on my desk. Having the glass on the desk made the whole cubicle look cluttered. No pen, no phone, no paper. My pin board walls were even missing pins and stopped me from hanging any pictures of loved ones. It felt like a show-home. Personalisation banned, Creativity forbidden. Free thoughts restricted. Deleting automatically generated emails from my account was the only task for the next hour. Another sprung up. The message wasn’t from a computer server residing in a broom cupboard in India but sent by a real life person.
Dear New Person
You seem to be drinking from my glass.
Regards, Louisa.
Short, sharp and she didn’t even put ‘kind’ before the ‘regards.’ This woman was definitely upset about a glass that looked identical to the other ten glasses on the shelf.
Hi Louisa
I apologise from the bottom of my heart. I didn’t realise everybody had their own glass.
Sorry once again.
Kindest regards
Jodi
Yes, my response was over indulgent. You could almost use the cliché of ‘tongue in cheek.’
Jodi
Apology accepted.
Please note in the future that the glass with a smudge of blue nail varnish on the bottom is mine.
Regards, Louisa.
Covering my mouth with my hand was the only way to stop the laughter seeping out.
Hi Louisa
I’ll put your glass in the dishwasher, now.
Sorry again, Jodi J
You might as well enjoy and finish your drink.
Louisa.
Those drinking games were finally paying off. I chugged the three quarters of a pint, not even stopping for a breath or wipe the tiny dribbles from my chin. Weaving my way through the labyrinth of cubicles, I rushed to the kitchen. I didn’t need more abusive emails. Okay that maybe was too strong. I didn’t want emails that were dictatorial like school.
Carefully I stacked the glass with breakfast bowls, I didn’t need a bill for a glass landing on my desk and knowing my luck it would probably be an heirloom even though it looked like something from the pound shop. Then I hid in the only private place in the office block – the toilet. But to be honest there was not much difference between this high walled cubicle and my desk. Both had the essential equipment and nothing else. I stood in the cubicle for at least ten minutes as I caught my breath and built up the confidence to walk through the office
Checking the dishwasher on the way and it was empty. The glass had vanished. There wasn’t even an employee racing back down the corridor. Louisa must have raced down here and fished the glass out of the dishwasher before charging back to her cubicle.
I wasn’t expecting a thank-you card with flowers. An email would have been nice. But there was nothing.
The glass always missing from the cupboards when I arrived in the morning and I even tried arriving early a few times. Louisa always got there first and left after me too. But when she was on holiday or skiving, sorry, I mean ill, I made sure I drunk from her glass. And I can tell you that the water tasted fresher.