One flew over the cuckoo’s cubicle

We all have to work at some point in our lives, whether we want to or not. And invariably, when we work, we come into contact with other people… whether we want to or not. It is then, that we realise how protective a bubble we had crafted for ourselves and just how truly bizarre the outside world really is. Here are a few of the different types of co-workers I have to put up with.

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The Autocratic Moron

Where do I begin? Let us start at the top. Or the man who stands directly above me, not in stature mind you for if you were to keep looking perfectly straight you just might miss him, even if he was standing directly before you. We shall start with the physical characteristics. As I mentioned he’s… vertically challenged, if you want to be politically correct about it. In fact, I’d say he’s also horizontally challenged. So that kind of sets the tone for this description, he’s akin a nubbin. Close cropped hair, the very stylish kind some of us get when we go for our religious pilgrimage. A thick, untrimmed beard, in the manner of the Taliban de France. And big goggles, note I refrain from using the word glasses. Small beady eyes and a stubborn mouth. Plus he reeks of hair oil. Now despite my hatred for the cliché, I find myself about to use one right now, he looks like an extra from Charlton Heston’s epic ape flick.

He often tells me about those family picnics of his.

But physical appearances are meaningless aren’t they? (Keep telling yourself that.) For in truth, inner beauty often surfaces and makes people look more desirable than they really are, I agree wholeheartedly. Which is why I think this gentleman resembles an ass. And by that I mean mule (or do I?). Nobody is meant to like their managers; I believe this is some kind of universal truth. It just isn’t meant to be. But this one, gives genuine reason. He knows nothing of what he is meant to do (no, really) and acts with all the intellectual authority of a bush, garden variety or political is open to interpretation. Contradictory and self-righteous, as all misguided holy men are, he instils in me the strongest yearning to do him permanent and extremely painful bodily damage. And as far as the gaining of knowledge from your superiors, a moot point. He avoids me like the plague, and I assure you BO has never been one of my infirmities. Because in his heart of black hearts, he knows that he cannot answer the questions I put to him, due to the lack of basic kindergarten reasoning abilities and no experience or theoretical knowledge of the department he is supposedly ‘managing’. To sum it up, he is an ignorant, belligerent little man who has probably been bullied his entire life, and he sees in me his sole opportunity to redress the wrongs done unto him. One now realises how dangerous and annoying power is when wielded by a baboon. Which is why, we must never let their kind take over, Mr. Heston. Viva la resistance!

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The Compulsive Chatter

Moving on, I sit in an idyllic little cubicle, replete with a vintage computer, a calendar that fulfilled its calling when the clock struck 12 on the night of the 31st of December, a basket and a Chinese style chair. Wooden. Just plain wooden. I hear it’s meant to do wonders for back problems. Indeed, you wonder if the problem will ever go away. But right next to my tiny Garden of Eden, to my right to be precise, sits a slurping, smelly, slippers-to-work wearing baldy. Now I have nothing against the bald, hey there was a time when I even ventured into it. But this is the bald that has yet to turn into the stylish post-pilgrimage scruff.I think this gentleman has gland issues. Saliva glands to be more precise. He keeps slurping every two sentences. Perhaps he’s got a gummy bear in there or something. But the sickening sound is enough to make me want to take my sharpened HB pencil and drain those damn glands.

Stupid, indescribably chewy, saliva inducing gummy bears.

And his is one of the more annoying office types. He always wants to chat. I’m almost tempted to ask him for his a/s/l. But by ‘chat’ I mean converse, and what’s worse, with me. I don’t care whether your ridiculous brother flunked his matriculation for the umpteenth time. I don’t care how in ‘humaray Pakistan main’ things are so much better than in the land of the camel. I don’t care that you think the company is unfair to you. And I most certainly do not care to know how grand (read: deluded) your lifestyle was back in ‘humara Pakistan’.

And you know what the worst part is? He just doesn’t take a hint! I mean how dense can you get? Do inattentive grunts and unresponsive demeanour mean nothing to anyone anymore? I mean the last thing I want is to be disturbed while I work and entertained while I rest. Now if you had a Ms. attached to an hour glass figure you would have been the best neighbour I could have wanted. But you don’t, so keep slurping by your lonesome.

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The Dense Maroon

And to my left we have bachelor number two! And I don’t doubt that he’s going to stay that way for a while (read: eternity). You rememberLaurel? Fat, gregarious, funny and all over lovable? Yeah well fat is where we stop in this context. Unwashed, oily, dirt matted hair, parted oh so lovingly in the middle as they frame the sides of his bulging face. Tiny deep set eyes, and glasses shoved to very edge of his podgy nose. His pants pulled up to his arm pits, belly pushing out for freedom from beneath his belt. I kid you not.

I think the concept of sanitation and personal hygiene is as alien as minding your own business to this reject from The Biggest Loser. He makes me want to poke his blubber with the tip of a long pole, just to see it quiver. Now I genuinely believe that big can be beautiful, but obese is just, well pushing the envelope on that one.

The man has, count them, 38 diplomas and certifications. All of which are a testament to how wily those internet scammers can really be. Plus rarely does he, if ever, realise the concept of sarcasm or mockery. Resulting in bashful, dainty blushing from him, and barely restrained laughter from everyone else. Plus, he’s one of those types that just reeks foolishness.

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The Oil Slick

Speaking of reeking. Coming to another of my comrades in arms. Actually I don’t think anyone would want to come into his arms. The latter just looked dirty, this one affirms it by assailing your nasal sense. What is it with people and oil? I mean the Italians use it and you don’t see people gasping for fresh air in their wake. Then why is it that the oil used in this office should constitute chemical warfare? I mean did they buy the thing in bulk straight from the camel’s ass?

Why would anyone take that picture and put it up on the internet?

But I think that oily look and stench do him justice. For he has that oily, rat like manner. Furtive and sneaky. He’s the kind who doesn’t just polish the old apple, he spit shines the darn thing. All the while using all that grease that he has in abundance, to lube up the floor so that you slip on it.

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The Horny Gerbil

And lastly, we come to Sir Jackalot. I am told his name is taken from Arthurian Knights of old. And like them, he too is on a quest. Only his Holy Grail is littered all over the internet. Some call it visual art, others call it education and while some even call it entertainment; an extreme sport if you will; me I just call it porn. And like all great heroes on a quest, obsession eventually changes the person forever. Some become weighed down by it and become colder, more calculating and selfish. Others become more sober, a smile rarely creasing their face, for what they have endured has wiped them clean of mirth. But in this case, our stick insect object of scrutiny, has devolved into a finger snapping, sexual innuendo spewing, drooling mass of perversion. If I hear him say six with an ‘e’ instead of the usual ‘i’ one more time, I intend to stuff his picture books so far up his ass that he’ll be able to taste them in his throat.

Like Quagmire… but not really.

So there, in an extensive rant I have summed up, the autocratic moron, the compulsive chatter, the dense maroon, the oil slick and the horny gerbil. As for myself, I like to think of myself as fairly normal and mayhap even fairly likeable. But I guess one will have to read what my co-workers write about me to know how I am perceived by the world at large. Provided that they first learn how to write, I hear the wildlife preservationists can do wonders with our lice-picking cousins, so you can never tell. And now, as my work here is done, beam me up Scotty.

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Categories: The World I Know

Author:Ali Raza

"Is this the kind of person you want protecting the galaxy?"

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2 Comments on “One flew over the cuckoo’s cubicle”

  1. SULTAN
    July 25, 2011 at 6:24 pm #

    The description of the horny gerbil has been written quite well. I’m again impressed and very entertained reading this whole satire. : )

  2. Alliya
    July 22, 2011 at 2:46 am #

    “He makes me want to poke his blubber with the tip of a long pole, just to see it quiver. ” HAHAHHAAHA i was in absolute fits!!

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