If getting posted to infantry and the sort was hell in its assorted nine levels, then being a clerk would be seemingly torment-less limbo, sullenly beckoning you to the pits of mental deterioration. Vocational responsibility is admittedly limited and unworthy of reasonable mention, normal walking strides threaten to turn into what resembles lethargic sweeping of the floor and conversations verges on dronning, glass-eyed interaction. If the omnipresent condescendence doesn't hold you by the throat in a silent death grip, boredom will gracefully sweep in and knock your head clear off your shoulders.
All it grants is a whole lot of free time to daydream and make frequent trips to the canteen with. I swear sometimes our minds just float away as we sit staring at the cubicle walls when we could be healthily interacting with each other. Oh and the copious amounts of leisure time does wonders for the politics in the office, its one gripe away from being an episode of Dilbert.
The character archetypes sprinkled around range from the harmlessly annoying to the dangerous Janus-like hemorrhoid. Enough about that, this Pes E byatch has brought home the bacon. Zai, behold....
