There are things about you that not just the government knows from your various internet behaviors, but also things that your boss knows about you from the mere look on your face on a daily basis. The glazed over countenance that reads: “Prolonged inactivity is my only ambition.” Because, ultimately, isn’t that secretly why you procured a cube job in the first place? To languish in the pure nothingness of being?
Or maybe it was because you believed yourself to have ambition for pulling yourself up by the bootstraps at one point in your post-collegiate career. The kind that would make you more money over time as you climbed the ladder that still leads you to everyone’s final destination: the ground. But your boss knew from the outset why you were there, how you ended up at the interview: because your only pursuit was to make just enough to get by. To lavish in the delights of stagnation as only an office worker can. That’s why they love you and hate you in their capacity as sadistic enforcer of dream atrophy.