My Cube Neighbor

I have been working for my corporate master for just about a year now in some capacity–first as a contractor and now as an employee.  One of the things that is different about this job is the layout of the employee workspaces affectionately known as cubicles.

Until recently, for most of my professional life I have enjoyed having my own office.  I had a door I could close for phone calls and conference calls, and I was able to enjoy music while I worked.  Now, my place of work is a cubicle whose walls are at most six inches higher than the laminate work surface I have.  The setup is the same for most of the cubicles around mine.  Since I moved to my new space in the spring, I have been pretty lucky to only have one of the adjacent cubicles occupied.  While others extoll the virtues of such a work environment as being collaborative, I find it to be highly disruptive.  There are plenty of distractions–phone calls, other conversations, and the constant interruption of the “walk-up” question.

Lately, though, my largest concern would have to be my “cube neighbor“.  In particular, the various things my cube neighbor has done in the last two weeks have truly made my skin crawl.  Here they are in a rough order of their descent into gaucheness.

Belching

My cube neighbor has loudly belched quite a few times since his arrival.  The first time I heard it, I was in the midst of working on some emails and an issue that had a arrived at work, so I was pretty busy at the time.  I dismissed it as something else.  A short time later, I heard the familiar sound of gas escaping from one’s mouth, and I glanced over at my neighbor.  Of course, he didn’t flinch, continuing on his work, digging into some programming code.  Some time after that, I heard it again.  At this point, I designated a nickname for my neighbor that shall not grace these pages.  Little did I realize how appropriate that nickname was given the next professional faux pas.

Flatulence

One afternoon, while working on something at my desk, I noticed a foul odor had somehow made it into the office.  Of course, given that I am some floors up from the ground and that there are no windows that open to the outside, I knew the odor could not possibly be emanating from outside.  I immediately thought “Someone must have cooked something in the break room,” but it was well after lunch time.  Finally, though, once the foulness of the stench overwhelmed my olfactory senses, I realized someone nearby had obviously farted. Given that I am not terribly old or incontinent, I knew I was not the source.  There was no one else around in the vicinity of my desk.  The only one nearby was my cube neighbor.

Another time, while more of my coworkers were in the office, the same thing happened again.  When this happened, I instant-messaged my colleague who sits nearby.  Here is a brief recollection of our conversation:

Me: Do you notice something in the air?  Like something doesn’t smell right?

Him: Yes.  It smells terrible.

Me: I hate to ask, but you didn’t do that.

Him: Of course not.

Me: I had to ask.  Do you think it was my neighbor?

Him: Yes.

This conversation has now happened a few more times, all along the same lines.  Apparently, my cube neighbor eats all of the wrong things.

Personal Grooming

About two weeks ago, I came into the office early to get some work done, knowing I had some email to plow through and some other bigger things to resolve later in the day.  I rode my bike in that morning, and I brought breakfast with me–some oatmeal.  As I settled down to my desk and began the daily triage of my email, I heard the distinctive sound of someone engaging nail clippers to trim their nails.  A quick glance over at my cube neighbor, and he was carrying out his own personal manicure.   Again, I instant-message another one of my coworkers:

Me: Unbelievable.

Her: What?

Me: My cube neighbor is clipping his fingernails.

Her: Oh. My. God.

Her: I hope your oatmeal isn’t crunchy.

Me: C’mon now!!!

TL;DR

I enjoy the presence of a cube neighbor who likes to belch, fart, and clip their nails at their desk.  How awesome is that?  You may all enjoy a hearty laugh at my expense.