At work, I share a bullpen-style cube with two guys, one 26 and one about 10 years older. Our area is surrounded on either side by two identical (in allotment, not population) stations.
While this communal workspace isn't ideal, it is necessary that I be in the middle of all of the action because it's really the only way I would ever know what the hell is going on. Placing me with these two dudes was strategic as well, because everyone knows that while I love my ladies, I do love them more from a distance.
When men and women co-habitate in this way, there are two behavioral outcomes that emerge: there are the activities that we decide we will force our cellmates to live with, such as perpetual blasts of foot deodorizer spray, talking somewhat maniacally to ourselves, and penis jokes. Lots of penis jokes. Then there are the ones that are better left for outside The Grotto. These include passing gas (unless, of course, you are the 26-year-old), clothing adjustments of any kind, and eating bananas.
That's about all I have to say about that.
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