THE GRAY CUBICLE

This is my cubicle. She is gray.

Every surface, just...gray. I spend my days in her cold, lifeless arms, though I would never say I'm "wrapped up" or "hugged" or "huddled" or "cuddled" or anything so warm and wonderful. She's not affectionate like that. This is the first time I've really examined her all up-close and personal. In the photo above she's actually kind of pretty. There's a glow about her, a silvery shine, no? Don't be fooled. This is a flattering portrait that masks her power to wear down the human spirit. She's a vampire, a predator who was here before I was and will be here when I'm gone, just sitting, waiting for the next me to come along. Like a shark, she consumes indiscriminately, dispassionately. It's not personal, what she does. It's not her fault. It's just her nature. In a way, I pity her.

But that doesn't mean I like her. So today, I took her photograph. Today I make my first real attempt to slip out from under her influence while remaining in her presence. Today I take a look at her and simply tell the truth about her, nothing more. That's quite enough for today. Any more and she might notice. Because, you see, when the cubicles took over the war for mens' souls, the did so a step at a time - quietly, non-threateningly - until one day, they were in charge. Like their revolution, mine will begin with a small, unnoticeable action. Then another and another. In time, she'll wonder just where the heck I went.

- OO