There is a cliche of immense proportions (both literal and figurative) sitting in the cube directly next to mine.
Cell phone ringtone is the Deathstar theme from Star Wars, and the volume of said cell phone is set on "stun."
Frequent calls regarding applications for summer internships -- all disappointing in nature. "What do you mean, the fact that I was arrested works against me? I was just arrested; I was never charged. What about if I try again when I get this expunged from my record..."
He gets phone calls informing him that he has one not one, but two bar parties for 20 friends, with food and beer included. "What if my friends don't want beer, but do want soft drinks? Is that part of the package, or will they have to buy them?"
He sneezes, loudly, almost constantly, spewing who knows how many germs and bacteria?
Normally, I'm pretty easy to get along with and I look for the best in everyone. Not today. No siree Bob.
That idiot is farting in my general direction. Repeatedly. Eeeew.