Trading Spaces

Due to this month's structural changes at work, I am now spending 2 (later 3) a week in a cubicle occupied by someone else the rest of the week. Today was my first official day in the cube. I felt a bit invasive sitting down in someone's cube, as if I were walking on the wrong turf. I'm allowed very little in the way of personal effects at my usual desk; they want to avoid the appearance of tackiness in a professional setting so I make due with a recently added picture of my girlfriend. This wonderful picture came with me into the strange cube so I could feel a bit more at home amongst the 16 or so large pictures of tropical and beach scenery. I also bring along my own "Buy the Big O" coaster that I ganked from the Chamber of Commerce (it's a slogan meaning "come to Omaha," not an official support statement for the city's thriving prostitution industry). I figure my co-worker would not appreciate having water circles tomorrow. I don't touch the radios, not wanting to bump the dial from the local Christian radio station. I then go to use the computer. I stare at the monitor and realize today's going to be interesting. For one, I'm squeamish about crud and sometimes even dust on the screen. I spend about 10 minutes with window cleaner and napkins smearing, scraping, and finally defeating the spots and gunk that have accumulated. If only I could get rid of all the papers she has taped along the sides of the monitor -- important notes she can't forget, fine. Pictures of dogs (one of a little tiny dog in a hoagie bun?) and American flags push me over the edge and I'm looking around, knowing already she probably doesn't have a stash of alcohol, which I desperately need whether it's 9am or not.