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.