Postcards from the Cube Farm

Setting:  Kitchen, in front of the all-in-one coffee machine. It’s like a mechanized barrista without the tattoos.

Guy in Kitchen 1: So, how’s that coffee machine treating you?
Me: I’m flabbergasted by its existence. It’s like some kind of crazy machine from the future.
GIK1: (Starts laughing.)

I pick up my coffee mug from the dispenser. The coffee is pale, clearly something is wrong.

GIK1: That’s not right.
Me: It’s a weird dystopian future, not some kind of Valhalla.
GIK1: (Walks away, laughing really hard.)
Me: (To myself) I wasn’t trying to be funny, I meant it.

Later…

Me: Hey, how’s it going, Guy in Kitchen 2?
GIK2: I’m living the dream! I can’t believe I actually get paid for this stuff!
Me: That’s awesome, actually, it means you must really like your work.
GIK2: That, or it’s a pathetic commentary on my reality.

Setting: The cube.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. Hanging from the ceiling above my head, there’s a semitranslucent plastic pig about the size of a loaf of bread. I eyeball it for a while and then decide not to mention it to anyone.