have a Coke and...an ass reaming

As I mentioned recently, the company I work for decided to move to a different building because our previous landlord refused to negotiate our lease when it expired. Being your typical Cancerian, I despise change and didn't want to leave...especially after finding out that I'd be sharing an office with Twinkletwat for at least three months.

Well, yesterday was our first day in the new building, and to my relief, I do NOT have to share an office with Twinkletwat; they put us in cubicles instead. She still sits in the cube next to me, and I still have to listen to her type (seriously, she types unbelievably loud; it sounds like a chimpanzee is banging on the keyboard with a pencil), but at least we're separated by a partition.

But all is not well in the Cube Farm, oh no! We share the building with another company. In the interests of privacy, I don't want to say who they are or what they do; suffice it to say that the business they're in involves a LOT of secrecy. The building is shaped like a ziggurat, with the floors overlooking an atrium, and as such, we're only separated from them by the catwalks over the atrium. There are uniformed guards patrolling the area to make sure we don't stray over to their side of the building. Since the bathrooms are accessible without having to wander through their area, we are allowed to use them. Theirs is closer than ours, so I've been using it, even though I get massive stinkeye from their employees, who have a much stricter dress code than we do. Today I was washing my hands at the sink, and a woman in an Ann Taylor pantsuit walked in and did slitty elevator eyes at my Rockstar Games t-shirt and jeans. I gave her my sweetest fuck you smile, dried my hands, and left.

The vending machine is right next to the bathrooms (convenient!), so I bought a Coke. Just as I bent down to grab it, Ann Taylor Pantsuit Lady (aka Twunty McTwunterson) walked out of the bathroom, stopped dead in her spectator heeled tracks, and barked, "What are you doing?"

"Um, buying a Coke," I said, holding the can aloft.

"Who is in CHARGE over there?"

I gave her my supervisor's name, and she stomped off to parts unknown. I was irritated as hell, but I returned to my cube and continued working. (Didn't have much of a choice; unfortunately my back is to the aisle, which seriously curtails my slack time...goddammit.)

About ten minutes later, my department received the following e-mail:

Everyone,
We have been asked to let you know that vending machines that are inside other tenant areas are not for our use.

The areas that are considered common are the bathrooms, bridges, elevators, and lobby area. There is a common area on the first floor with vending machines in it available for our use at the end of the building.

If you are crossing over the bridge and entering areas beyond the bathrooms for any reason, you are in another tenant’s space.

Are.

You.

Shitting.

Me.

In.

My.

ASS?!?

The vending machine is right next to the bathrooms, and we aren't allowed to USE it? It's not like we have to go into their actual office space to use the fucking thing! I know they're paranoid, and they have every right to be due to the nature of their business, but if they were that worried about it, they should have bought the whole fucking building.

I hate the corporate life.