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Dear fellow occupant of the veal farm, - It seemed like a good idea at the time... [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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Dear fellow occupant of the veal farm, [Jul. 10th, 2008|04:04 pm]
Dear co-worker,

Here we are, right next to each other in tiny cubes, separated by only a thin partition covered in fabric. Or worse, you may across from me...only a tiny aisle...

You may find the sound of your speed dial on speakerphone soothing and musical. I do NOT. I'm fortunate enough to be surrounded by real music the rest of my day and by comparison the "boop-boop-bip-beep-beep" at high speed, usually ended by the crashing of you picking up the phone makes me freaking nuts.

Sweet Cheese of Jesus, you're going to pick up the phone ANYWAY. If I'm going to have to listen to the dialing, you can at least let me eavesdrop on the conversation.

[User Picture]From: mistressfetch
2008-07-11 02:46 am (UTC)
Jesus Cheese is my favorite especially since it is low fat :-)
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[User Picture]From: stonethrow
2008-07-11 03:15 pm (UTC)

Fart cures all.

Death comes on little puppy dog feet.

You know if you weren't doomed to the cubical farm I would say - fart at him.

That's my office cure all - fart. Then claim you are alergic to all those air perfume things.
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[User Picture]From: buglefly
2008-07-12 06:58 pm (UTC)

And then there are those who ASSume you're not on the phone.....

and start tossing questions over the wall of the cube like hurtling vollies of the dead via a catapult. I'm in a conversation on a very important telecon and the other ear is hearing these dis-embodied questions and my brain, which doesn't do well in multi-tasking, is trying to decipher if the next question I have to answer is to those on the telephone or do sling a zinger back over the wall?
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