There’s Fashion Week and then there’s Hate Week, which has begun roughly at 9 a.m. every Monday since the invention of the cubicle. Rather than being colored with cerulean fabrics and We Love Our Customers hangers with attached plastic as an outfit, Hate Week has none of the glamor and the attractive clientele of Fashion Week. Instead, it starts at about 6:45 a.m., when the office worker’s alarm goes off for the first time and is placed on snooze until about 7:45 a.m., when she drags herself out of bed to make coffee that will far surpass the K-cup scene.
It continues when she arrives at work to parse through emails, mostly of a bullshit nature (you know, like announcing that there will be drinks for such and such fuckhead’s birthday or going away party). And persist past the drunk lunch hour (two glasses of wine makes anyone drunk on a Monday before 5). It will continue throughout the week in this exact Groundhog Day manner until Love Weekend arrives, a brief blip to refresh you for Hate Week.
For some–those types who fix lotto machines as opposed to work in the confinement of an office “space”–Hate Week doesn’t necessarily need to start on Monday, but it always has to start some time. And when it does, well, at least take comfort in the fact that boiling blood from the contempt you have for your work drives a faster metabolism that just might help you evade office booty.