Nikil Saval

This was an enlightening view on the history of the cubicle! A history of the cubicle is also a history of politics and capitalism and corporate bureaucracy and the traditional roles between men and women, not to mention Dilbert, Office Space, and The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit.

So now I know why we are stuck in cubes, looking at computer screens, getting only moderate outside light, freezing our asses off, and pondering why such a mind numbing job requires an expensive college degree. You can blame Propst for coming up with Action Office 2 and sticking us in cubicles in the 1970's, but cubicles like this were not his intention. He thought flexible walls would mean flexibility at work.

I learned quite a bit about the building of skyscrapers and office parks and what office space does to the psyche. Nikil Savral covers a lot of ground in a relatively short book and does it well. I'm glad not to have been a "working girl" in the 50's and 60's (Thank you, 9to5ers!).

I remember my first glimpse of office life when I got a "real job" and was dismayed by the sea of cubicles, out of place in an office building from the 50's that still had actual fireplaces in the corner offices. Even in the newer building that I worked in, the cubes still seemed out of place - the building had not been designed for the amount of cubes that people were crammed into.

The author talks about newer types of offices at more progressive companies and what the vision is for the future. He doesn't mention anything, though, about the badges we swipe and the high security in our buildings. The futuristic talk about co-workspaces (which exist now) as places to go to meet people from other companies while you type away on your laptop does not address the chronic need for security - for our clients, for our company, and for ourselves. I don't know how that will play out in the future with all of the hacking of major companies underway and the tight regulations of the government.

A good book, worth reading if you're geeky like me and just have to know why office furniture is the way it is!… (meer)

One of the dirty little secrets of the modern world is how many people's waking hours can be reduced to sitting behind a desk in an office, hour after hour, day after day, year after year, droning away, performing tasks either tasteless or downright repugnant.

This little book about modern office cubes is most insightful. Having had the nasty experience of being chained to a desk myself as a young man, I offer the following warning in the form of a micro-fiction:

OVERTIME
For many years Neal Merman commuted back and forth to his place of work like the others. It was to an insurance office, a room with blank walls, linoleum floor and forty desks under naked florescent lights. Coming in with regularity, Neal performed the job of an everyday clerk.

This mechanical routine shifted abruptly, however, when Neal became part of his desk. First, the desk absorbed only two fingers, but by the end of that afternoon, his entire left hand was sucked up by the metal. And the following morning Neal’s left leg from the knee down also became part of his desk. So it continued for a week until the only Neal to be seen was a right arm positioned beside a head and neck on the desk top.

When the other clerks arrived in the morning, all of them could see what was left of Neal, head down and pencil in hand, reviewing a file with utmost care. To aid his review, Neal would punch figures into his calculator fluently and with the dexterity of someone who knows he is total command of his skill. Such acumen brought a wry smile to Neal’s face.

One day, Big Bart, the department boss, came by to check on Neal’s files. “Your work, clerk, is better and better, although you are now more desk than flesh and bones.”

“What files do you want me to review today?” Neal asked, still scrutinizing some figures.

“Not too many files, clerk, but enough to keep you.” Big Bart withdrew and Neal followed him with his eyes until his boss could no longer be seen.

Later that same day Neal’s right arm faded into the metal. Then, like a periscope being lowered from the surface of the sea, his neck, jaw and nose sank down, leaving his eyes slightly above the gray slab. Neal looked forward and saw his pencil straight on – a long gleaming yellow cylinder with shiny eraser band at the end. Over the pencil, his telephone swelled like some giant mountain. Hearing the phone ring, Neal instinctively reached for the receiver, but this was only a mental gesture. Neal felt his forehead sinking and closed his eyes.… (meer)