Alright, Who The Fuck Feng Shui’ed My Cubicle?
I think someone actually came in here and feng shui-ed my cubicle. If this shit is supposed to bring me some kind of inner peace, the son of a bitch who did it is sorely mistaken. I can’t find a goddamn thing. Where the hell is my coffee mug? Why is there a plant where my pile of reports used to be? Where the fuck are my reports?! If I don’t turn in those reports soon, I’ll be fired.
This is the opposite of good energy. I’m fucking pissed. The worst part is that I can’t tell if I’m immune to the transformative powers of feng shui or if the person who did it just sucks at feng shui-ing. Which of these motherfuckers replaced all the printed-out memes I taped to my wall? What the fuck does “the buck stops here” mean? This is a fucking office, so why do I need a stop sign for deer? There’s a crystal hanging from the corner where my filing cabinet used to be. Yeah, sure, the next time I have to pull up some old records for a client, I’ll just reach into my trusty pink rock. Get the fuck outta here.
I can’t possibly imagine what spiritual purpose moving my desk from against the cubicle wall to kind of floating diagonally in the center so I’m facing the entrance serves. Google says it’s something about being in a “power position” rather than a “victim position” when colleagues approach. The only advantage is that now I’m better able to keep a lookout for assholes intent on fucking up my whole shit with spontaneous furniture rearrangements. I hate this so much.
This had to be the work of that hippie idiot Elizabeth. Or maybe Darrell from auditing. They’re both into woo woo New Age bullshit like this, but Darrell’s the only one with the balls to fuck up my work environment and think he can get away with it. I’ll kick the feng shit out of him. I’ll channel all this chi straight up his ass. These idiots thought this would bring me peace. It’ll only bring them pain.