Your man just broke up with you via text? Your boss is overworking you and you’re about to burst into tears? Time to ream your assistant for screwing up again? Or have an unexplained itching that warrants a call to the GYNO? Don’t over-share at your open plan desk. There’s a place just left of the photocopier called The Crying Room.
Open Plan. That’s the generic architectural term for “people pit,” no walls, no doors, no PRIVACY. And that’s what became of us when my company relocated downtown last year. As I write this, I am donning headphones to drown out the phone conversation adjacent to me. Only the individual on the other end of that call needs to hear my colleague use the word “discharge” as a noun. And the poor assistant who just got chewed out by her boss and is now sitting at her desk wailing? Don’t want to hear it. Don’t need to see it.
Your man just broke up with you via text? Your boss is overworking you and you’re about to burst into tears? Time to ream your assistant for screwing up again? Or have an unexplained itching that warrants a call to the GYNO? Don’t over-share at your open plan desk. There’s a place just left of the photocopier called The Crying Room and you can go there and do that…and more. It’s dark. There are no windows–just a couch, with throw pillows that work well to muffle the sound of your sobbing, a table and a box of tissues. It’s off the beaten path, so you can emote and ‘handle your business’ to your heart’s content.
I’m in there at least once a week and I already see a vast improvement in my emotional wellbeing. Stability once out of reach is now completely attainable with The Crying Room. It’s better than the handicap stall in the bathroom. A veritable outhouse for your emotions, it is genius and every 21st century-sterile-minimalist-office-aesthetic should be equipped with one.
Recently, one of my colleagues complimented me on how calmly I handled a situation where I was asked to speak expertly about I subject in which I knew nothing about, and in which I was only briefed moments before, with the reminder that my job was on the line. Before The Crying Room, I might have complained to the wrong person, freaked out at my desk–any number of things that would have been deemed unprofessional. Instead, I simply walked over to The Crying Room flopped facedown on the couch, grabbed a pillow and screamed into it at the top of my lungs, while kicking my legs back-and-forth. It was cathartic and so efficient, I was actually able to retouch my make-up before I entered the lion’s den. My colleague was so amazed that she has started to use The Crying Room too (bad breakup). It’s now become so popular, we’ve had to create an online sign up sheet with time slots, for personal calls, reprimands, arguments with expletives, TMI bodily issues etc., but spontaneous combustion is still first-come, first-serve.
The Crying Room, everybody needs one.