KFC,

Wanted to get your feelings on what warrants a card in the office place.¬† I used to work in an office while I was at college and these people would have cards for everything.¬† Now even though I hate them I understand having to sign the birthday card and also cards for when people are leaving or retiring.¬† Those are acceptable reasons for cards but then they would make us sign cards for people who have lost relatives.¬† Had to sign a card for some chick’s¬†dead¬†grandpa.¬† Had to sign another one for some girl whose boyfriend’s brother died.¬† I’ve never even met these people and here I am writing about how I’m so sorry for my coworker’s loss and how we are all here for them even though I full well will not be there for them. I’m already miserable just trying to make it to the end of my shift and then I got these people shoving these depressing cards down my throat reminding me of how much of a scumbag I am because the first thing that comes to my mind when I see this card in front me is that I just don’t give a shit about these people or what happened to their relatives.

Curt

We’re a few weeks into the Cubicle Chronicles now. And now is where we separate the true Cube Monkeys from the college kids who have just started their office job and don’t know what true misery is yet.

Curt is a real Cube Monkey. The depression has set in so deep he’s spiteful and vindictive to an almost unhealthy extent. Is it weird that you’re offering condolences to some chick’s boyfriend’s dead brother even though you’ve never spoken to her or her boyfriend? Sure. Is it even weirder that it pains you to the core to sign your name on a Hallmark card? Yup.

But thats what happens. When each and every aspect of your daily life in the cube starts to torcher you, thats when you know you’re a true monkey. Thats when you know you’re in too deep. No going back. There’s no way for Curt to turn around his life at this job. Not even the death of a loved one can make Curt feel normal human emotion towards his coworkers. He’s become a heartless, emotionless monkey who has three options:

1) Start blogging in the hopes that a smut empire picks you up and gives you a full time job. Please note this entails flushing all your money, education and dignity down the toilet, and is quite a long shot, but will get you out of the cube.

2) Rot in your cube 5 days a week, 9-5, collect your bi-weekly paycheck, offer fake condolences to dead grandpas, and develop a nasty drinking habit during your free time to forget about your shitting 40 hour existence

3) Kill yourself.

But hey, won’t it be poetic justice when some 22 year old kid emails me saying:

Hey KFC,

Love Cubicle Chronicles. The other day I had to sign a card for some dude who worked 3 cubes down from me who offed himself out of nowhere. Never even spoke a fuckin word to the kid. What the fuck is that about?

Lets step up the Cubicle Chronicles submissions – email kfc@barstoolsports.com with pictures and stories and everything you absolutely hate about your life at work.