Day Three

I work in a cube farm for a software company.

My job is about as boring as jobs can be. I sit here, listening to the sales people peddling our wares in the cubes over the wall from me while I wait for the orders to come to my ‘team’. We then enter these orders into the arcane computer system that we run. Built in 1990 and based upon an old DOS prompt thingy, it serves to confirm the old adage that a painter’s house is never finished.

Once these orders have been processed, they are passed to a colleague to check for errors. Mine are usually passed to Matthew. Here begins the terrible tale of the sticky.

When these orders leave my desk they are pristine. New orders, ready to be let out into the world. Full of youth and carefree abandon they are the new generation, untouched, virginal, clean.

That is, until Matthew gets his little paws onto them.

Mistakes in this department are written on a yellow post-it note, which is then attached to the front of the order and returned to the poor soul that entered it. They render the order useless, sub-par, not up to scratch.

Matthew takes great delight in checking, and condemning orders. Like the true Aryan child that he is, he scrutinizes each order carefully, pouncing on any mistake with a gleeful ‘ah ha!’ Whipping a post-it note from his pad he slams it onto the order, accusing it kangaroo court style of failing to live up to his exacting standards. Seriously… these little yellow pieces of paper may as well be star shaped. His sole goal is to ‘sticky’ each order that passes his desk, hoping that this will enhance his reputation with the senior guards. I mean management.

Therefore, each day I walk into the office and am confronted by a pile of my orders, stickies covering them like the ‘pox. This only serves to increase my loathing for Matthew, and add fuel to my plan to ‘remove’ him. My orders shall one day be liberated!!

Update. Humor has turned to anger. The stapler is now locked in his drawer with the staples. I shall have to be crafty.