From the outside looking in, I am a cubicle worker. From inside my cubicle, looking out, I am an inmate. These cubicles are very loosely guarded cell blocks. My follow inmates vary in terms of personalities. I will now describe two.
To my left-rare, I have a man who walks so slow, each foot drag seeming deliberate, I nicknamed him Eventually. Eventually has a rectangular box head — think Frank Grimes from the Simpsons but with more depth — and a short neck that somehow has the same width and depth as his head. His entire face droops, slightly exposing his bottom row of teeth. He looks like an old turtle. Eventually is also a mouth breather that often falls asleep at his desk. And when I say often, I literally mean it — every 15 minutes this guy is in Naptown. Snoresville. Propped against a street pole on the corner of Count Sheep St & Dope Nod Lane. You get it.
In front of Eventually sits Extra Bat-Shit, the cell block loon. She hums to herself, is most likely pass 50% deaf and thinks everyone is out to get her. The whole cell block is privy to her personal life because she is without shame LOUD AS ALL FUCK. If this was an actual unisex prison, I’m 96% sure she would sport a doo-rag. I have the (mis)fortune of having to serve weekend bids with Bat-Shit. It is the torturous cherry on top of the prison sentence sundae. No amount of chapel time can make it bearable. Unless, prayers for a drug mule go answered…
There are other inmates here but they aren’t as amusing. I’m sure I’m a weird character in someone else’s story. I’m probably the he-may-be-muslim guy. Who knows.