This week, for the first time in a blissfully short professional career, I have been locked into the mind-numbing stockade that is an office workplace. It’s all coffee, elongated bathroom breaks, and bad office jokes. My existence feels about as valuable as one of those tiny numbers that I plug into an endless Excel sheet.
What’s the best way to pass the day? (besides daydreaming about that cute girl in marketing).. I plug in my headphones and drown out the buzz of the copy-machines and that chatty fellow from accounting with a cacophony of synthesized, thrusting, cracking, hyped-machined and re-worked pop jams.
My fingers type and groove to Thomas Jack:
I reminisce on better days spent prowling Cape Town with D-man, WalterCronkTight and Goldfish:
My feet tap the linoleum floor to the beat of MUTO‘s JT remix:
I lovestep with Just A Gent:
And look, Marketing Hottie is up to get a cup of coffee, and subsequently so am I. Things will get better.