G'Day Douche

OK. I've held this in long enough. I hate my cubicle-mate. HATE.

I know, I know, hate is a strong word. But I'm sorry, it's also the only word that is appropriate. And yes, I also know that I have a strong tendency to hate my neighbors, but honestly, I've tried. Hey, it's been over a month since I've talked openly about this, so that has to count for something.

But here it is. My cubicle-mate sucks.

He started the same time as me, which I thought would bond us for life, but he is one of the worst people ever, so forget about it. I will bond elsewhere.

The first week on the job, my cube-mate (who is literally a mate, as he hails from some douchey section of Australia where one's accent sounds like those giant-jawed editors at The New Yorker from Family Guy) was having some phone trouble. He was trying to re-route his international number to his new US line and the company responsible for this was clearly incompetent. Or so he screamed. He spent hours on the phone, berating customer service reps until I had to walk away out of embarrassment.

The worst day was April 13, the Monday after Easter. He was outraged that no one was working on Easter. The man is Godless.

The next offense involves a blatant disregard for personal space. Something that I moved away from New York to avoid.

Picture a giant commune of cubicle space meant for three. Now imagine that the space itself is divided by a wall - making one cube on one side (mine) and two on the other (cube-mate and an empty).

Granted, if I had the extra space on my side of the wall, I would definitely let some files stray into the empty territory, but cube-mate has gone too far.

One day, some files appeared. Benign. The next day, he hung pictures on the cork board of the opposite cube. Brazen. Today, he is rocking a television constantly streaming Australian public access. Bastard.

Not only has he effectively taken over two spaces in the office, he is also blasting Aussie morning shows not two feet from my head. This sir, does not make you awesome. It makes me hate your marmite-eating guts.

But the straw that broke my back (wait, did I just make myself a camel?) happened this morning. There has been a large, framed soccer jersey on the floor in the corner of the office since I started. I has nothing to do with our company, our clients, or our products. It always seemed a bit out of place, but not today. Today, the jersey was handing on the wall. The wall just off our cube section. Hanging there. Like it belonged.

Yes, the jersey is cube-mate’s. Yes, he hung a picture on a shared corporate office wall. A wall that is not even attached to his work space. A random wall. For him.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, BUDDY? Are you that important that you not only need your own television, but your own wall for personal art? Seriously?

I hope you can agree that this hate is justified. And if you can’t, then I will come after you with all my might – by putting my conference calls on speaker phone. Take that Aussie Scum!