Working is one animal, of course. The office life, on the other hand, is something entirely separate. It’s tailor-made for the masochist seeking optimal pain, the kind that feels like squeezing lemon onto a freshly opened wound. Between feigning pleasantries, pretending to care about co-workers’ pathetic personal lives and being rationed with breaks that almost make factory life seem tantamount, it’s all you can do not to orgasm from the pleasure of the pain.
If, however, cutting isn’t for you, you may want to reconsider your foray into office life. It simply isn’t for the sort of person who enjoys, well, existence. Granted, it’s extremely suited to those who still believe vehemently in the twentieth century incarnation of the American dream–that if you just put your head down, pay your dues (i.e. give up on all aspirations you once had in your more idealistic youth) and wait for your adequate 401K to subsidize what’s left of your wasted life, you will have achieved success.