The office manager here, like other office managers I have encountered over the years, rules with an iron fist. There are concrete Rules that will be obeyed, and woe betide the fools who dare to flaunt them, or even attempt, in their fatal injudiciousness, to attempt to bend even a micron’s worth of flexibility out of them. Such are the harsh régimes under which countless cubicle dwellers languish.

It was, therefore, with intense trepidation, nay, terror, that I petitioned our office manager to be allowed to break the Second Commandment of the Cubicle Farm: Thou shalt not erect any construction, banner, staff, or other contrivance that will be seen above thy cubicle wall. A colleague, either sure of my success or contriving my death, assured me that Christmas decorations stood an excellent chance of being exempt from the ban.

And lo! He was right! Our office manager, in her sublime wisdom and mercy, dispensed this exemptory grace upon my humble cubicle, and allowed me to construct an ersatz Christmas tree over the entrance to my cube, suspended by a string of lights, a capstone to my decorative efforts. Her single, generous condition was that I refer to her favorably in this modest forum.

This, of course, was a request easily fulfilled, as it is generally accepted that only the most refulgent and reverent language is fit to be used when meditating on her saintly kindness, exquisite poise, goodwill, serene charm, and physical perfection. Yet even these superlatives pale in comparison to her true magnificence, of which I, as a mere mortal, am neither worthy nor capable of truly relating with the rude tools available to me on this material plane.

Thank you, O wise and benificent Office Manager.