Any time someone emails me with a question, it takes every ounce of my will power not to answer, “I have no fucking idea, dude.” PGP.
Getting a call for an interview, but having no clue what it’s for because you’ve applied to so many jobs. PGP.
My life goal is to be so successful that it hurts my ex girlfriend’s feelings. PGP.
She’s office hot. PGP.
Getting the high score on the blood pressure monitor at your local CVS. PGP.
My boss types with two fingers. PGP.
Having to look the cleaning guy in the eye after exiting a stall. PGP.
Repeatedly explaining basic Microsoft Office commands to older coworkers. PGP.
I’ve been actively picking my nose at my desk for twenty minutes. PGP.
The countdown to happy hour started at the end of last night’s happy hour. PGP.
An overweight coworker telling you that your lunch is unhealthy. PGP.
Until recently, I thought Ariana Grande was a font in Microsoft Office. PGP.
Being subjected to sitting in the one chair that squeaks in the conference room during a meeting. PGP.
Just learned I have to carry a separate business iPhone, making me look like the biggest douche of all-time. PGP.
My friends are all getting engaged. I’m still puking on street corners. PGP.
Coffee for breakfast, Red Bull for lunch, beer for supper. PGP.
The overwhelming satisfaction you get when you see people you went to high school with doing much worse in life than you. PGP.
The awkward stare-down when walking down the hallway toward your boss. PGP.
Getting passive-aggressive comments about not contributing to the break room/party fund. PGP.
That sinking feeling when you realize you relate to PGP posts much more than TFM posts. PGP.