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Your life is not as interesting as you think… or is it?
By Norris Van Heatherington

Over the course of my numerous years spent co-working in a variety of cubicles I have overheard many personal conversations. Despite not being a nosy neighbour (I could care less what these people are doing), the details of the lives of colleagues have voluntarily been polluting my workspace. I’ve been through dilemmas with badly raised children (spare the rod…), family trauma of every variety (no one can grow up these days), conflicts over after-work drinks (a pub is a pub, for Christ’s sake!) and most health-related problems. My least favourite invader, following gastrointestinal issues, is break-ups. God help you if you have a co-worker going through a divorce!

The new world of portable telephones, smart as they are, is turning average people into idiots. Once a phone is attached to their ear, it’s as if a clear-glass booth descends from the heavens and encases them in a private, sound-proof haven where they are free to talk openly about anything and everything. Except there is no such thing as clear-glass booths that descend from the heavens – no, these people are yakking on senselessly forcing everyone to listen in.

This is what these silly narcissists inevitably forget about – the audience. The sea of snared victims sharing the self-imposed telephone booth, cringing with misplaced embarrassment and praying for a power outage. Further, they seem to forget we might not all be compassionate souls. We might, in fact, be opportunists waiting for the chance to make their pathetic lives even more miserable. Yet on they protest, sharing intimate and private details as if they were a contestant being interviewed on a damned reality TV show. No need asking if they’re ready for their close up.

Recently, one of my least favourite colleagues has been going through a divorce, which was of no surprise to me having been subjected to his presence. The dissolution started amicably, as these things normally do nowadays, but quickly transformed into an all out war over child-custody agreements, and of course, money. I have spent hours listening to one side of his conversations with his lawyer, his soon-to-be ex-wife, his father, and his new girlfriend. “I am not a scum-bag!” he shouts regularly back into the receiver. I then spend more precious minutes listening to his moaning after each phone call, where he intrudes upon my cubicle and shares even more juicy tidbits, all with a captive audience around us trying to work.

This man seems to think I actually care about the state of his relationship. What I’m more interested in is the state of his financial portfolio. Thanks to his narcissism, I know how much he has in retirement savings, the appraised value of his house, his car, and how much he spends on food, clothing, and gas. I also know how much he tells his wife he has, and what the difference is. I know when he visits his girlfriend, and where he tells his wife he is going when he is actually visiting his girlfriend. I even know his credit card number.

This man suffers from the latest and most popular of First World problems: he has no idea how unintelligent he is, and believes his opinion counts as fact. Little does he know I’m ready to hit “Send” on the prepared anonymous email sitting in a Draft folder, which contains actual facts his wife’s lawyer would be extremely interested in reading. That, and the knowledge that I’m an avid bidder on e-Bay, and more than happy to allow his credit card to lead me to victory in winning a coveted replica of an East German torture device.

Long story short: you aren’t as interesting as you think you are… unless it services someone else’s thirst for revenge and/or pocket book, so remember that next time your phone rings at the office.