I don’t generally “do” Christmas music. It tends to make me want to jam pointy objects into my ears. However, being the season, the occasional festive tune is unavoidable. The one I’ve been hearing most thanks to a television advertisement for something I’ve already forgotten about is Santa Clause is Coming to Town. It’s cute. It’s endearing. And it makes the gift giving fat man sound like a world class creeper.
Ponder if you will the lines:
He sees you when you’re sleeping;
He knows when you’re awake;
He knows if you’ve been bad or good…
Does this sound like the casual level of interest that most people have in one another? Of course not. It sounds like the misguided and deviant actions of a stalker. The song itself warns that “You better watch out.” And yet year after year, we’ve perpetuated the myth to generations of children that it’s not just acceptable but encouraged for this kind of person to sneak into their home in the dead of night while their family sleeps.
Kris Kringle, the purveyor of elfin-made gifts, or Kris Kreeper, the pervert in our midst? Take a good hard look and I think you’ll know the right answer. Good God, where’s the moral outrage?
I came back from lunch to find one of the more emotionally needy members of the team standing in my cube. You know the ones; they need special reassurance that they’re doing the things right… every time they do anything… regardless of how basic the task. Yeah. That guy. I’m sure you’ve met him.
According to sources in a position to know, he had been standing there for 15 minutes. Standing in my cube, while I was at lunch, for at least 15 minutes. Just standing there. And waiting. Standing there waiting to tell me that he had uploaded some documents to our network drive.
In the future, it would be completely appropriate under these circumstances to send me an email. Leave me a note. A voicemail I’ll even get eventually. Though really, you can feel free to upload files to the network to your heart’s content without my direct supervision. That’s probably another issue altogether, really.
I can’t fathom why, in the name of all things good and holy, it might have seemed like a good idea to spend 15 minutes standing in my cube waiting for me to come back from lunch. Were you expecting a treat of some sort? Up until today, that was the only 55 square feet of real estate in the entire building where I feel even a modicum of sanity. You’ve taken that from me now. The sanctity of my cube has been violated.
I can’t tell you how much I don’t need a cubicle stalker in my life.
Editorial Note: This is part of a continuing series of previously unattributed posts appearing on http://www.jeffreytharp.com for the first time. This post has been time stamped to correspond to its original publication date.