Monday, 21 December, 2009

Life in my cubicle

Reflected in the glass of my cubicle are two ZooZoos (which, appallingly, have a Wikipedia page of their own). As I typed that, another joined them to make three in all. I dislike ZooZoos. Clearly, the dude who sits in the cubicle next to mine, from whose computer screen the glass of my cubicle reflects the ZooZoos, doesn't share my lack of affection for the paunchy little things and their annoying speech-patterns.
Not that I have anything against paunches. I cannot afford to, for it would trap me in an unending maelstrom of self-loathing.
Also reflected in the glass of my cubicle are images from the India-Sri Lanka one day international at Cuttack. The positioning and alignment of my cubicle means that a majority of the cricket (and indeed all television) I watch while at office is laterally inverted. Which is great for the idle pondering of the role handedness plays in our aesthetic appreciation of sport, but not when you want to watch for an extended time-period.
As I type, a colleague yells, "The Sri Lankans are falling apart!" and then, "Kandamby gaali." (Gaali is a Tamil word that approximately means 'finished'. Thilina Kandamby is a left-handed Sri Lankan middle-order batsman who bats right-handed on the glass of my cubicle.)
My cubicle is partly glass, and partly the kind of laminate found in all cubicles, or at least the ones I have seen. In between, there's also a rectangular piece of softwood, ostensibly meant to function as a notice board. In the other cubicles in my office, this piece of softwood is covered with blue cloth. Mine's bare. This wasn't the case until about a month after I joined, when I arrived to see that the blue cloth had been ripped off, along with the picture of Hanuman pinned to it.
The picture of Hanuman, and the cubicle, had belonged before I arrived to the Deputy Sports Editor of the newspaper I work for. The cubicle now belongs to me, while the picture of Hanuman has returned to its rightful owner, who now sits in a cubicle diagonally opposite mine.
The occupant of the cubicle diagonally opposite mine is still the Deputy Sports Editor. His cubicle, however, does not have upon its exterior a brass plaque that reads 'Deputy Sports Editor'. Mine does.
Which is mildly embarrassing, because whoever walks into the office with the purpose of speaking to someone at or near the apex of its hierarchical pyramid stops at the door for a while, attempting to find in my entirely blameless visage a sign of deputy-sports-editor-hood, before making his or her uncertain way to my cubicle, only to be directed to the glowering occupant of the one diagonally opposite mine.