When you’re as miserable as you inevitably become after more than six months in a cube, you tend to become equal parts masochist and sadist when learning how to deal with life in the “9 to 5.” The masochism is easily reiterated when you pass through the Bryant Park stop to see the “Commuter’s Lament or A Close Shave” poem, but the sadism can be a bit more difficult to execute.
That is, unless the co-workers around you happen to be a hair on the retarded side and easily piss off your boss–who will be especially prone to getting irritated if she’s a woman (let’s be real). While inefficacy is typically rewarded in the workplace, there are rare, glorious moments when it is, at long last, treated with a public verbal lashing that will get you wetter than the last rando you fucked on your lunch break at Jimmy’s Corner just to feel alive.