Here's something that sucks: Moving your cube at work.
Milton Shmeggle in the Department of Redundancy Dept. is too far from his boss, Mr. Cleaverhook. Meanwhile Peggy Pigglesworth is separated from the rest of the potato peelers on her team by a daunting three rows of cubes. And what's worse, Blaine Mellon, Vice President of Processed Cheeses was given an office that was discovered to be four and one half inches smaller than that of Manager Rupert Fezziwick. There is only one solution to these terrible atrocities: We must rearrange the office.
And so we played the Cube Farm Shuffle today at work. I unplugged all eight hundred miles of chord, cable, and conduit that connects me and my computers to the rest of the world, baled the bushels of paper that I should have discarded weeks ago, and began long process of emptying my desk drawers.
So now, three hours later, here I am. Forty feet from where I started, in an identical cube. Only now that I have one that overlooks the water bubbler and the bathrooms. I figure I'll entertain myself by keeping a log book of who goes in and how long they take.
Somewhere, somehow, someone is now happy. I'm just not sure who that is or why.