Grrr! (On Being Shorted and STILL Smarting From It)

The office in which I work is just one floor in a 13-story building filled with drab, depressing, SAD-inducing, grey cubicles. There are 33 cubicles that have windows and 28 interior cubicles. I have been in one of those miserable interior cubicles since the day I started this job. As you may recall, I recently celebrated my second anniversary at my job, so it's been a long miserale interior cube while. Additionally, most employees get outta Dodge either just before or just after their second anniversary, so sticking with this job after two years adds me to the group of more "senior" attorneys. When someone does get outta Dodge and their cubicle becomes available, one of my supervisors (and I have four, count 'em, FOUR supervisors, so if you're picturing Office Space right now, you're on the money) sends out an email offering up the cube. Interested persons send a reply email. As you can imagine, people just jump at the chance to upgrade to a window cubicle. From the pool of interested persons, the supervisor gives the cubicle to the most senior attorney. Or, at least, that's how it's supposed to work. (Foreshadowing!)

For the past two years, I have sent in reply emails for window cubicles on the other side of the building, which is warmer than the side of the building that I am on. For the past two years, I have come up empty-handed, which smarted just a tad when the two fellows I started the job with got warm window cubes before me. Fine, they probably just sent their reply email before I did.

Once a year, on a Tuesday in August, a handful of special projects come up. These projects are important, expedied matters which require the participating attorney to go off-site to the main building (see, our drab Cubicle Village is in a separate building from the rest of the operation because there isn't enough room for all the attorneys in the main building), conference with the Head Honchos, and remain at the main building until the matter is settled. Attorney participation for these special projects (usually) works on a voluntary basis. I say "usually" because one of these projects was thrust upon me that Tuesday morning. So off I went to the main building. I conferenced with the Head Honchos. I stayed there all day.

When I returned to Cubicle Village at approximately 4:00 p.m., there was an email in my inbox. Turns out, the most wonderful window cubicle had become available. This was some prime real estate, I tells ya. A window on the warm side of the building, with Southern exposure. Direct sunlight, whoo hoo! I sent my reply email, letting my interest known. I figured I was a sure thing because everyone who had started before me already had a window cubicle or did not want one.

I heard nothing from the supervisor. Days went by. Finally, I contacted the supervisor and asked what the situation was with said Prime Real Estate. I was told that the cubicle had been given to another attorney. He was set to move in to the cubicle the following week. And this is where I was officially gypped, Dear Reader, as the attorney who had gotten the Prime Real Estate had only been at the job for just about one year. When I pointed this out to the supervisor, what did I get? An email that contained one word: "Sorry."

So what happened? Did the supervisor drop the ball figuring who was the most senior attorney to reply to the email? (In which case, couldn't the supervisor rectify the mistake, as the winning attorney had yet to move into the cubicle?) Or did I not reply to the Cubicle On the Real Estate Market Email fast enough? (In which case, should I be penalized for the supervisor sending out the email while I was, at the supervisor's request, away from my desk and at the main building, working on a special project with the Head Honchos?)

Weeks went by. Every time I stepped into my miserable interior cubicle, I smarted from being shorted out of the window cube. Finally, another cube opened and I fought for it and I won it. Dear Reader, I settled (only after the supervisor told me, in so many words, that there were other attorneys he would give window cubicles before me). I settled for another interior cubicle. The new cube, however, is on the warm side of the building and it is just across a Cubicle Village Street from a window cubicle. Accordingly, when I would turn around in my chair in my Old Cubicle, I would see this:


Now, when I turn around, I see this:


It's no window of my own to call home, but it is a vast improvement.