Underpants On The Outside

A couple weeks ago I asked for ideas for a cubicle decorating competition my office was throwing. As you might recall, the budget was fifty dollars, though I was loathe to spend that, seeing as how I was up fifty bucks to begin with and the prize was a forty dollar fleece.

The suggestions were terrific. Eventually, Pimp My Desk barely lost out to Lucy’s Psychiatry Booth, due to the fact that, when I finally got started on this project at 8:30 PM the night before judging, Target was shamefully understocked on spinning rims.

But at the last minute I was struck by inspiration: why couldn’t my design emphasize function over form? Steak, over sizzle? So on, over so forth? So while the other contestants were decorating their cubicles with tissue paper and streamers, I turned mine into a MOTHERFUCKING GRILL.

See that? That’s me, making EGG SANDWICHES for about a dozen people on my floor. People were coming by telling me the whole floor smelled delicious. I probably heard the words, “No way!” forty different times. I even had room in the budget for a little bell; every time the sandwiches were ready I’d shout, “Order up!” punctuated with a little ding.

It was a classic.

It was unprecedented.

It was not good enough to win.

No, the winner was the girl across from me, who covered every vertical surface of her wall like it was the board game ‘Life’. I guess I was the only one who finds the implied message depressing, particularly when it’s seven o’clock and I still haven’t left the office.

Now, I can admit that she put a hell of a lot more effort into it than I did, and okay, the competition was to decorate the cubicles, so maybe mine didn’t exactly fit the bill. Fine. If I were really jealous, I might say things like, “She only won because she has a big [DELETED].” Good thing I’m not jealous.

But I took third, because second place went to a woman who decorated her cube like a nightclub. She even played music, checked “the list” for the judges’ names, and danced. Later I was told that if I’d “acted mine out” a little more, I might have won.

So I have this to say to the judges, who will never read it: Act it out?? Did you hear the bell? The only way I could have acted mine out more was to hire a crusty waitress named Flo, and she wasn’t in the budget. I wore an apron and a paper hat; that’s as much acting as you’re getting out of me, because you see, it wasn’t an acting competition. If it had been, I’d have given you an empty plate and made you eat an imaginary sandwich in mime. No, you got an actual sandwich, and that sandwich wasn’t a prop – it was delicious. It had cheese on it. And I hope you enjoyed it, because it was the last one I’ll ever make for you.

As an extra punch in the gut, the office suggested that it would be nice if I made breakfast every Friday morning. Sure; right after our weekly game of ‘Life’. Oh wait, no one wants to play a weekly game of ‘Life.’

Oh yeah, and after the competition my boss surprised the winner with a new video Ipod. (Full disclosure: my very-generous boss gave everyone who participated iTunes gift certificates as well, and I feel obligated to say that this was very cool of her to arrange.)

I should also say that I’m (mostly) kidding, and I very much like the women who scored higher than me, and I don’t actually pine for the days when women were nothing more than secretaries and a ‘cubicle decorating competition’ was an abomination of femininity that never would have been tolerated. This was fun. Really.

(One last thing: sorry about the small photos, these had to be taken on a camera phone because the battery monitor in my camera has crapped the bed.)