He calls you in his “office”.

Frankly it’s an award-winning design for an office.

Several awards.

“Shabbiest closet in America”.

“Least impressive desk in the Western World.”

“Most unstylish decoration of 1983.”

And that’s before factoring in the owner himself. Damnit Mr Jones. How can someone somehow look out of place of that office due to an obvious lack of class… on their part?

You’re standing at attention. Look smart, Mel. It’s just the fifth time he calls you today. Sometimes you wonder if he doesn’t do that just to allow your male colleagues to check out your butt… and somehow forget he pays ridiculously bad wages. Even for old losers. #sorrynotsorry

He starts nagging about The Form. Jesus Christ. Again? It’s the third week and you’ve been listening to his recriminations about it 34 times already. You almost blank out of numbness.

Your gaze drifts to the one window—the coveted view? A brick wall. You’ve named it Walter. Walter has a more fulfilling life than you. Probably gets thanked for standing tall.