My boss calls me “princess.” PGP.

I swear every single person in my office sneezes like a fucking freak. 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.

My work playlist should be titled “A compilation of songs that help me not want to kill myself, or anyone else.” PGP.

The state of maximum vulnerability only achieved by way of your boss asking to speak to you in his office. PGP.

Dancing on the line between hating your fucking job, and hating your fucking job enough to justify applying for a new one. PGP.

Mastering the art of bullshitting a response to the infamous “What do you do for fun?” question because the real answer is “Anything that isn’t work related.” PGP.

“When’s our next paid holiday?” PGP.

My click-and-drag skills have peaked. PGP.

I hate the way my boss sneezes. PGP.