Cubicle Hell

So it's 11:30 on Sunday night, and I was going to go to bed until I remembered that I had forgotten to switch my laundry from the washer to the dryer four hours ago. I need those clothes, because it's too late to go buy new underwear, so I guess I'll stay up until they're done.

All of which is unrelated to my new cubicle at work, my new home, until god knows when. They want to hire another new editor, but they don't have any more empty cubicles. They'll have to go on the offensive, stage a late-night cubicle-grabbing raid on the computer people on the other side of the office. All I know is that the new person's cube must be in a shittier spot than mine. If it is not, I might go on a hunger strike. But is this possible? Is there a worse place than where I sit? Let's examine it geographically.

I have an attractive corner cubicle, on the corner of two busy aisles. To the southeast is the kitchenette, where people stand and chat loudly while waiting for their smelly bad-fish sandwiches to heat up in the microwave (or so it smelled last Friday). To the south is the stairwell. The stairwell is closed, with a heavy metal door doing its best to block sound (and probably flames, if they were to crop up). However, people like to run up or down stairs, and I get to hear them coming and going, hear their heavily booted feet ringing on the metal stairs: ap tap tap tap bang bang baNG bANG BANG!!! BANG!!! BANg BAng bang bang tap tap ta...

I can't concentrate on my editing when there's noise, but I also can't concentrate on my editing when I'm listening to most music. What to do? What, that is, except curse everyone who walks by with their prehistoric pounding feet and their stinky exotic food and their chatting and their laughing.