A cat by any other name

The telephone tolls for thee


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Meow at me

My phone moved at work. And so I had to follow it. This was infinitely better than the previous time, where I moved, and my phone didn't. Granted it was only to the other side of a large room, but still, the inconvenience of dashing across the floor every time a phone in that vicinity rang, or appealing to the kindness of the poor soul who got my old desk to come get me each time...well, it got old.

When we started this project, there were fewer of us, and we all fit into this huge storage room they cleared out and filled with tables and computers. Now, however, we've outgrown that space - outgrew it weeks and weeks ago. There's a new building they're working on that we are supposedly going to move into, but the details keep changing, as does the move-in date. So the latest story was this double row of cubicles that opened up in the current building. Plenty of room for half of our team to move over.

Big business doesn't like to do things quickly, of course, so it was a hassle for the poor admin to get the phones transferred and the lan lines activated so we could move. Then there was the issue of actually getting us physically moved. Technically, we are not supposed to move ourselves. There is some little group of people somewhere whose sole purpose is to move people from one cube to the other and charge an outrageous sum for the pleasure of doing so. And they would get their collective noses bent out of joint if we were to do it instead.

This is all fine and dandy, but for one minor sticking point this week. Through a series of mix-ups, they moved our phones first. And this time it wasn't just across a room, but to another section of the building that was just too far away to even *hear* the phone, let alone go leaping for it. So......we've been moving. Yes, all by ourselves. A phone leaves, and shortly thereafter one more desk empties in the storage room and one more cubicle in the new section miraculously sprouts a computer, developer, and all the accessories that go with the pair.

I've got a cubicle now. All my own. And here's where I'm starting to get scared. Because I *like* it. All this space! A whole shelf just for me! Okay, there's no file drawers or cabinets to stash stuff, but toss on a pencil cup and a plant on the counter and I'm just thrilled to pieces. Shudder. Oh, the horror! It's a good scientific experiment I suppose....put people into a cramped and difficult environment and then once they've just about reached the point where they're almost begging, move them to cubicles. Anything is better than a table in a room next to the cafeteria, with the hollow sound of aerobics classes echoing through the thin walls from the adjoining workout room. But still, I can't help but feel amusedly ashamed. I *hate* cubicles with a passion. And here I am, thrilled to pieces to have my very own.

I suppose if it had only been the acquisition of the cubicle this week I might be more accepting of my slide into worker-drone fate. But it gets worse. Much worse.

They deactivated our pagers. After my company was swallowed by a bigger fish, we've been going through all sorts of lovely transition foo. We consultants had pagers. They dangled cell phones in front of us and the weaker ones snapped up the bait. But I held out, proudly, clutching my pager to my chest. Sigh. I knew this would happen. They turned them off and neglected to tell any of us until after the fact. And then when I called to beg for a replacement, I realized what it is that I had to do.

Wincing, I bowed to the pressure and ordered myself a cell phone. No more pager. Yuppieness has taken hold. Dilbert, I salute thee. I have been assimilated.

Someone take me out back and shoot me now. Please?