Worship at the Office

The corporate structure, a city with rules of its own. Company policies, the commandments to the city of stress. The CEO, the mighty God, with HR being his or her noble disciples.

Enter the foyer into purgatory before the lifts take you up to enter through the not-so-pearly gates which await for you.

At last, your fortress appears: stationary supplies, a desk, a lacklustre personal computer, all sorts of food crumbs and dead skin cells between the keys of your 2007 Logitech keyboard, a photo of somewhere you'd much rather be on your computer screen, a tap on the shoulder for being 2 minutes late by a senior colleague.

A smile and a friendly greeting for the manager, who enters exactly 18 minutes after. Separate set of rules.

Invisible ladders, which you are subliminally told to climb, lead nowhere. Copious shit-stained noses about, grab a wet wipe.

The people who would not look at you once on the street greet you several times as you pass in the hallways or in the bathroom.

"Good morning."

"Good afternoon."

Good riddance, you pests, bugger off. Let me urinate in peace.