I’ve been at the office so long, it doesn’t feel like I’m wearing deodorant, anymore. PGP.

I’ve been at the office for almost 3 hours now and still don’t have anything to work on. PGP.

The amount of anxiety that comes with deciding whether to sign your email off with “Best,”, “Best regards,”, or “Cheers,”. PGP.

My afternoon has consisted of Excel and the repetitive IRS hold music. PGP.

The thousand yard stare you blankly give your monitor while fantasizing about a rich and exotic lifestyle far removed from the mundane chore of the 9-5 work week. PGP.

Everyone in the office wants the city we’re in to land the Amazon HQ. I just want to get a beer after work. PGP.

Been here for a year. Done all there is to do. Mentally checked out while I apply for other jobs. PGP.

Having the same Monday night routine as Ted Cruz. PGP.

Not enough data to share, but too poor to leave the family cell phone plan. PGP.

Wishing you had a more ergonomic chair. PGP.

Equifax. PGP.

My coworker responds “roger that” in a group text with my boss. PGP.