Tuesday, October 13, 2009

A Letter (or The One in Which I Am Sarcastic)

Dear People Who Come By My Desk When I Am Not There,

I have a box on my file cabinet. You have to walk by it to get inside my sad little cubicle. It is on the very edge of the filing cabinet, not obstructed by any plants, pictures or other accoutrements of office life. It is front and center, and it has a sign (in bright, obnoxious green) that says “Inbox.” It’s located in such a way that it offers the advantage of walking the very least distance to my desk, as I reside at one end of a long hall, and I have attempted to save you a few steps.

Why, with all this wonderful planning of mine, do you then insist on bypassing my inbox and instead place your papers on my chair, my keyboard, amidst a pile of papers I was readying for the shredder, or balanced precariously on my coffee mug?

Ah, I see. This document could not wait until I checked my inbox in an hour. It was imperative that I see it the moment I approached my desk, or began sifting through my papers. The fact that you needed a signature for your expense report (in the amount of $7.95 for the pack of lightbulbs you bought for your office rather than requesting them from central supply like everyone else, which would have saved the company about $7.45) was more important than any of the other 15 items in my inbox.

Next time I will do my best to find a place for the inbox that makes more sense to you. Perhaps taped to the top of my computer monitor, or on a solitary stand right in the center of my cubicle? Maybe with a candlelit altar and some soft music playing? Is that prominent enough for you? I’ll get to work on it right away.

Sincerely,

I Lost Your Piece Of Paper Among Fifty Other Pieces Of Paper

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