October 30, 2008
So I’m just sitting at my desk, in my Office Space cubicle. I’ve got my Diet Coke, I’ve got a big bag of Twizzler Bites.
And I briefly feel “not so fresh.” You know?
And since I’m all alone in my spacious cubicle (it really is spacious, like a double-wide), and I have no meetings or interactions of any kind scheduled all morning, and I don’t want a stomach ache, I go ahead and do what I would do in the wild.
I fart. I have neighbors, so I’m discreet about it. Silent. But also, it turns out, an effluvium as potent as mustard gas. It may have had color.
Ten seconds later, the support tech enters the cube, and is visibly stopped by a wall of uncomfortableness (and an unseen Iron Curtain of ick).
“We’ve got a problem” she says.
Amen to that sister.
“The upgrade isn’t going well.”
And we have the most awkward FIVE MINUTE conversation in the history of awkward five minute cubicle conversations.
If this were a movie or a TV show, I would somehow trigger the fire alarm, or even jump over the cubicle wall and flee the building.
But it’s not. It’s just me in my class C office space, in my double-wide cubicle.
She keeps coming a little closer (remember, the cubicle is a double-wide), and then retreating. But we really don’t know each other very well, so neither of us can do anything other than maintain the polite fiction that I haven’t just fouled my cage so thoroughly that a skunk would hesitate before entering.
I may have to avoid her for the next 7 years.