[WP] “Some days, I love my job. Those days are the worst.”

I’m corporate wage-slave number 437.

It’s been a struggle, this job. I sit at my desk and push buttons. I have a list of buttons I need to press before I go home. I have no idea what these buttons do, and our company could be making space shuttles or pens. I spent the first four months trying to decipher exactly what it is we do here, and after that I was too afraid to ask. So I push those buttons every day until one day blends in to the next, and the next, and before I know it it’s next year.

One of these days I want to push the wrong buttons on purpose. I always feel a perverse thrill when thinking of the setup, the execution, and the fallout. I think the fallout is my favorite part. It’s the part where I leave and go back to construction, where the wage wasn’t as good but at least I knew what I was doing. I miss the days where I could watch a building transform over the span of a few weeks or months. I miss knowing that it was my hands that helped turn the dump into the palace.

I think the worst days of all, however, are the days where I’m happy. There is a day, usually once every few months, where I am content to sit and push buttons. I sit at my desk with my motivational poster and coffee mug and feel like this is the job I was meant to have. The afterglow of this epiphanic orgasm of mediocrity usually lasts me a few months. From the back of my mind I watch myself eagerly await the next day like a thirsty man waiting for his next drink. It gets me through the months, the years, the decades.

It’s only from the deep, dark recesses of my mind where my sanity hides that I scream at the thought of another day in this hell.