We Are Window Company

The department has been absolutely buried this week, which probably has a lot to do with why people keep having to hide in the bathroom and cry. When I started, I kept hearing rumors of “The Busy Season,” but never in my wildest dreams did I think that was code for, “Say Goodbye to Your Loved Ones, Because You Won’t Be Seeing Them For Awhile.”

I’ve worked no less (and usually much more) than ten hours every single day this week, but the mountain of paper in front of me keeps getting bigger. Sooner or later, it will become so large as to block my view of the windows, thus ensuring that I lose track of time altogether and wind up working until I collapse into a drooling, incoherent heap under my desk.

There are already some people who have started to lose track of themselves altogether, and seeing them wander around with paper clips stick to their faces made me realize that if I was going to avoid being absorbed into the office collective (they don’t call ‘em cube farms for nothin’, folks), I was going to have to act quickly. Below are the tactics I devised to help stave off the minor hysteria that’s already claimed five of my coworkers today, black plague-like. Those of you in offices, take note: The Busy Season strikes without prejudice, and it’s coming for you next.

Before I introduce to you my Plan for Continued (Almost) Sanity and (Most Definite) Individuality, I feel it is important to formally introduce you to my workstation:

Click Here To See My Dwelling of Corporate Evile!

War Games
I sit opposite the filing cabinet and launch paperclips into the hair of any unfortunate soul who happens to pass. Occasionally, I huddle in my chair, look around nervously and mutter, “Charlie was close. I could feel it.”

I also quite like launching staples over my shelf and into the cube of The Joyless Wonder, though I had to stop when I ran out of staples and had to ask her to order some more for me.

Dial-A-Dealer
I shuffle a stack of incomplete faxes and dial the number on the first one I choose. I then act like I can’t hear the first person to pick up the phone. I repeat,” Hello? HELLO?” for a minute before exclaiming, “There are ANTS in my KEYPAD!” and hanging up (The Company’s number is untraceable, by the way).

Voicemail Roulette
Much like Dial-A-Dealer in that I choose a number at random from a stack of faxes. I sing into the line as the call connects, so if someone picks up, they get an instant serenade (and I always finish my verse before saying, “Hello.”). If their voicemail’s on, I open my message with, “Howdy doodle,” end it with “Later, gator,” and inject a few, “Alrighty-reenie-roonies” and exclamations of “Holy cats!” in between. Surprisingly, no one’s ever gotten angry over this.

Cube Darts
For this, I make a copy of a fax from a dealer I particularly dislike. After pinning it up, I move to the opposite side of the cube and launch push pins at it. Hitting the purchase order number earns ten points, the glass code earns twenty, individual product requests are fifty points, and hitting a dealer’s name gets me a whopping one-hundred points. Depending on my score, I treat myself to a game of Voicemail Roulette.

Mission: Impossible
I play this every time I go to the fax machine, and it consists of nothing more than me darting behind plants and humming the theme to Mission: Impossible. I always end this game by pretending the fax machine’s going to blow up and darting back to my cube with my hands hovering over my head.

Gamera vs. Barugon
I set up a city of pens and paperclips and then use my statue from the film Gamera vs. Barugon to reenact my favorite scenes from the movie. I also occasionally involve my origami panda, whom I call “Pandozer,” and use it to destroy “Tokyo Tower” (a.k.a. a bunch of binder clips stuck together).

I started employing these games yesterday, and so far, so good. Each week, I will discard one game and add another, just to keep things fresh. Next week, I’m thinking “Whack-A-Bitch-Coworker” might be in order.