My married manager asks about my sexual conquests. Every Monday. PGP.

Needing 2-3 years experience for every entry level job, which makes absolutely no sense. PGP.

Tinder-ing all the local talent while out of town on a business trip. PGP.

The vegan to my left texts with his keyboard sounds enabled, and the nerd to my right breathes like Tony Soprano. Shoot me. PGP.

Celebrating your 5-year anniversary at a company you originally considered a short-term stepping stone. PGP.

Accidentally swiped left on the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. PGP.

Identifying with George Costanza. PGP.

A summer consisting of emails, phone calls and spreadsheets instead of beer, babes and beaches. PGP.

Let the thermostat wars begin. PGP.

1: “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.” 2: “Not here.” PGP.