Please Do Not Feed the Monkeys

Week Eight begins at my freelance gig in the cube farm, where I paste copy for a large corporation's Creative Services division. I say "paste" copy because any sort of creative copywriting is severely frowned upon. It does not "meet brand." Today I tried to write a full-page ad for an industry trade that was shot down in flames by the account services people. So, for round two of the ad I went to one of the company's websites and copied some text. I pasted it into the copy deck, tweaked it ever so slightly and gave the ad the blandest headline I could imagine. "So much better. This is perfect," came the response.

In eight weeks, my cube has been moved twice. This morning the entire department was in a new location in the building. On everyone's desk was a letter signed by six individuals who had a hand in our move, one of whom goes by the title "Director of Space Planning." The letter began, "Welcome to your new home! We appreciate your cooperation in making this a smooth transition." To further enforce the feeling that we are all just caged chimps, everyone received a package of M&Ms with the letter.

This is not my home. The florescent lights are brighter than the sun. (I have already unscrewed them above my space, for which I will likely be brought up on charges.) The acoustics are like an amplified abandoned well. I ate those M&Ms and I’m sure the sound of chocolate melting in my mouth (not in my hands) was heard a few cube avenues away.

When your company has a Director of Space Planning, something is very, very wrong.