What would this generation’s “going postal” be called wrt workplace?
This assumes that a) workplace has photos of my family and b) they know what music I like. The latter I imagine possible to get from Spotify, but for the former there is no source – neither I nor my family post anything.
So it would be extra dystopian for them to show me any montage.
There seems to be an issue with your personnel file. It says here that your file is incomplete, it looks like you didn’t submit your yearly photo package? Unfortunately, our payroll system won’t let us print checks to someone with an incomplete file, so I’m gonna need you to submit those photos in a timely manner please.
Can’t we just get it to dispense an edible instead? A Xanax?
Oh that probably would have made me snap
Vision going red, frothing at the mouth, multiple-day blackout level stuff
As the intrusive thoughts come on, you succumb to disassociation, briefly fantasizing about hacking apart every last one of the bastards in the management suite. When you snap out of it, you’re covered in gore and holding a severed hand. Behind you is a trail of blood and smoldering ash. Your direct supervisor bleeds out in a corner with a letter opener jammed into their aorta, and the general manager has been thoroughly dismembered, with various parts tied to the break room corkboard with headset cables.
“I hate Mondays,” you mutter to yourself.
