It's just another mind-numbing day in this fluorescent-lit dungeon they call an office. Your eyes are heavy, your brain is foggy, and your patience is thinner than the sheet of paper with squiggles on it sitting in front of you. Here you are, chained to your desk, clicking away at the keyboard like a robot. Today's task? Organizing files, of course. Your boss, the epitome of micromanagement (but painfully unaware) has decided that this is your purpose in life. But wait… what if… you quit?
You can't help it… your mind wanders to the day you enter your boss's office beaming, informing them of your resignation. The unreasonable deadlines would go away. Poof. Gone, like the wind. You'd be lounging on a beach somewhere, far far away from this office. That's it, you've decided. Come Monday, you are going to hand in your two weeks' notice. Bye, everyone.
Then, check out this thread where Gen X talks about what they can't understand about the newer generations.
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