New office workers may get overwhelmed by the culture of meetings, and the number of absolutely stupid and useless ones, until the day comes when they have the bullshit meeting epiphany. You'll likely be in the middle of watching a PowerPoint discussing something you didn't even know your company did, led by people you may have never even met before, and you'll think, "Jesus, it's like these idiots are wasting time because they have no idea what they're supposed to be doing." And in that moment, you will have caught the leprechaun and spunked right in his golden pot.
A solid 80 percent of meetings that haven't been called by management are complete and utter garbage that serve no purpose whatsoever. They exist so those go-getters who called them can hope against hope that it'll make it look as though they've been working on stuff for the last month or so, when it's pretty obvious they put in five hours of work, tops. Meetings are just bullshit. They're there to sap people's days so that they get so tired of the topic at hand that they wrap it up and ask no additional questions because they don't care anymore. Thus leaving the meeting callers off the hook for at least another week.
Here's a fun story. I once worked in marketing for a major non-profit organization. This non-profit operated on several fronts, and my office was located above a retail store that was affiliated with my non-profit. I was in marketing, though, don't forget. I wore a shirt and tie every day, I covered my tattoos so no one would be aghast at my non-traditional flesh tone, and I wore sensible shoes. But I was also just out of college and the youngest person in the office.
"Unfortunately, you're a bit overqualified. This position is for someone who's spirit we get to break."
One day, maybe because of some severe trauma I'll never be aware of, maybe because it's funny to torment others, a person shat in that retail store down stairs. Not in the bathroom, mind you, but in the middle of an aisle. They full-on shitted on the carpet. Now, this store was not the sort of store that required janitorial staff, so there was no janitorial staff. This was not a business typically privy to errant shittings.
The retail staff on this day featured a couple of middle-aged ladies. The office staff featured more middle-aged ladies, a middle-aged man, and me. I want you to all write down on a slip of paper who you think was told to go down and pick up and dispose of the human turd that was on the carpet. Put your guess in a hat with everyone else's, then shit in that hat and dropkick it through my mail slot, because I'm the shit man. I had to go downstairs in my shirt and tie and pick another human's turd off the rug. To help, they gave me a roll of paper towels and a bottle of glass cleaner, two items virtually useless when it comes to the task of plucking human excrement from a carpet while curious shoppers look on.
"Mommy, I don't want to pick up poop when I grow up."
"Oh, don't worry. By the time you graduate, there won't be any jobs available, poop or otherwise."
Was I more adept at cleaning chasm chowder than the rest of my coworkers? Likely not. But I was the low man on the totem pole, and for the first time ever, literal shit rolled downhill to me. When you're the least important person at work, every harrowing, menial, fucktarded, mind-numbing, soul-shattering task becomes yours, because who else is going to do it? Not a damn person, until they hire someone less important than you -- and if your job is literally the least important one in the office, that could realistically be never. You could be cleaning every shit ever for the next 20 years. And the worst part? That shit could be part of your lunch, which you don't even get to eat because someone stole it. The circle of up yours is complete.
For more from Felix, check out The 6 Deadliest Foods Ever and 4 Most Sexually Uncomfortable Characters From Your Childhood .
What the Hell Did I Just Read: A Novel of Cosmic Horror, the third book in David Wong's John Dies at the End series, is available now!