Relax

Today I am sitting at my desk with, as usual, perhaps not quite as much work to occupy me as I might like, when my telephone rings (which never happens). It is our section director. "We're having a corporate consultant come in to give a couple of classes next month!" she exclaims brightly. "We have time management and stress management. Are you interested in signing up for one of these?"

I freeze. Is this some kind of a trap? "Um, I guess I'd like to sign up for time management," I reply timidly. "I'm not actually particularly stressed."

"Yeah, it's not a terribly stressful work environment," she says. "I'll go ahead and sign you up for time management. Byeeeee!"

Later she makes the rounds to get enrollments, in person, from everyone she wasn't able to reach on the phone, including my cube neighbor A. After talking to A. she pops her head into my cube. And for perhaps the first time, I see my workspace from a managerial perspective,

Outside my cubicle is a whiteboard with the "word for the day" (echolalia) and a drawing and written description of a peach tree being plowed down by a bulldozer. Inside it's more lively. Among an embarrassment of knick-knacks, I have a ninja-painted, duck-topped jewelry box, a photo of myself and two female former coworkers draped provocatively over Omar, and a great deal of my own and others' doodle art. There's a sticky note on my computer monitor that says "Laggard." Robbie has given me a lot of magazine clip-art, as well as a floating head he clipped from a poster honoring someone's retirement. The retiree is making an "ok" sign with her fingers and chowing down on something from a Johnny Romano's ad, provided by Jason. My cabinet is covered with magnetic letters from Justin, in which Robbie has helpfully spelled out the word "Biatch."

The section director glances briefly around my cube, says "Oh, Elizabeth. I already got you," and bustles off.

I got your non-stressful work environment right here, biATCH!