By popular demand I bring you my trials, struggles and stories from behind the 3 1/2 walls of my office cube. Stay tuned, there’s some weird ones.
Introducing the inaugural “Cube Chronicles”: my issue with Linda
Dear Linda – whoever tf you are,
Hi there. I hope all is well for you this holiday season. My wish is that you have found all the necessary accessories to allow your gift-giving to go swimmingly. 2016 was a wacko year for all, and my prayer is that yours was only ridiculous and not tragic.
But here’s the deal…we need to talk.
Apparently you used to sit at my desk, or, possess the phone number that is now associated with my office phone. For that reason, I feel like we have a connection. I also feel that we are now close enough for me to ask you one question.
WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!
Seriously, what did you do? Why are insurance collectors, insurance sellers and random unknown numbers calling my desk asking for you by name? Why do they desperately plead with me to put you on the phone and/or give up your location? Why are your bad decisions and unfortunate life experiences catching up to me when all I’m trying to do is entice tourists to come to Vegas so they can buy me free drinks…I mean help the local economy. Whatever.
This has been a ritual I’ve experienced at least three times per week for the last six months. Always an unexplained call from a strange Midwest number looking for “Linda”. Not to mention the confusion from the otherside of the phone when I a) am not Linda or b) have no idea about Linda’s whereabouts.
Maybe the better question is: What did I do in a past office life to deserve this? Did past me make loud, personal calls daily? I could see it from a past me, a stupid me. Either way, I’m confused.
Tell me baby girl, cuz I need to know.
I wanna know, I wanna know – where do we go, where do we go from here?
I don’t want to be sold insurance and I don’t want to be called in as a witness to an FBI investigation. If you needed someone to drive the getaway car or cover for you, you should have just Instagram’d me or arranged a secret meet up in a bar like they do in Ocean’s Eleven. Shit, even a carrier pigeon would have been easier.
So, would the real LINDA please stand up? That would be greeeeaaaatt.
Maybe you don’t know what you did. Maybe you woke up in an alternate universe and your phone is missing. Maybe you just really suck at changing your address. Regardless, I hope you see this and I hope you can get your life together so I don’t keep getting yelled at by this private investigator disguised as an insurance salesman.
Linda, I don’t need to be your friend…I just need answers.
Distraught in the second cubicle from the back