It’s been said that every time a person considers quitting her (men don’t work anymore) job, there are approximately ten thousand other younger, more eager people lined up to interview for the position for less money. The zygote who ends up ingratiating herself into your company at the entry level wage will not only work for fewer pennies, but also work harder and with a pluckier demeanor for said fewer pennies. What that means for you–day old bread at this point–is that your days of being regarded with even mild interest by the boss are numbered.
You are dead weight, a lazy piece of shit who doesn’t operate with the same gusto and innovation of ideas you once did. You are living in George Orwell’s Animal Farm and you are Boxer, the horse that can’t win regardless of his lifelong dedication to the inane cause of working. Like Boxer, your devotion (in this case, dragging your cuerpo to the cube each day without hanging yourself in it) will yield zero reward other than a trip to the knacker that is being irrelevant and unable to learn new tricks with the same ease as a freshly hired animal. So glare away with your fellow outmoded co-workers as the fresh meat trots in. It’s about all you can do.