I have finally completed my binge watch of all nine seasons of “The Office” – the US version, that is. I fell in love with the first episode and continued being delighted even after the heartbreaking departure of Michael Scott. I've never in my life wanted to work in an office, not even one time … until I watched “The Office.” I plan on taking on the original British version next, so prepare to see another one of these because I'm certain my next dream will be to work in an office in the UK.
I'm not going to say it's common, exactly, but I think everybody feels this way at some point. I'm not going to say this feeling is more common in office settings, either, but I mean …
If you assume this means that an office is a good fit for you, then you are wrong. I hear tell that offices are breeding grounds for stupidity, requiring ample amounts of patience.
Don't. Don't do that.
How awesome would that be? Work friends! Your own Dwight and Kelly and Ryan and Toby! Well … maybe not your own Toby.
Surely every office is full of fun and camaraderie, right?
Might as well put it to good use on the daily.
The one regret I have about working from home is that I cannot have a work nemesis. I can't even turn the cat into my archenemy because we're cool now.
I want to have a work fiend – fiend, not friend. Man, I really want an office nemesis.
And the dances and the singalongs and the … wait. Wait. That doesn't happen in real life.
Staring off into the ether. Thinkin' 'bout the future. Wondering when your life went off the rails. Might as well get paid for it.
You've gotta start somewhere. Might as well start with a middle management position.
Parties for birthdays, President's Day, Valentine's Day, Secretary's Day … oh, all the parties! All the cake! All the ice cream!
Probably won't happen, but wouldn't it be great?
Everybody thinks you're interested … but you're not interested at all.
Even though you're bound together by the mundane quality of the day to day.
Admit it. You once thought about finding the Jim to your Pam, the Dwight to your Jim, the Holly to your Michael, the Michael to your Ryan – you get the idea.
Even in Scranton, PA.
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