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Civil servants love meetings. It's like their version of a marathon. I attended a meeting the other day that was so long; I thought I had accidentally walked into a time vortex. I aged another ten years in there. They love to discuss the most mundane topics as if it's a matter of life and death. I walked into the conference room, and someone said, "Today, we're going to discuss the strategic placement of office plants." I thought I was in a parallel universe where plants were secret agents, and their positioning was a matter of national security. By the end of the meeting, I was convinced that if we didn't get those ficuses in the right places, the entire office would crumble.
And don't even get me started on the PowerPoint presentations. It's like a competition to see who can fit the most bullet points on a single slide. By slide three, I've lost all sense of reality. I'm just nodding and smiling, hoping they don't ask me a question because I've mentally checked out and gone to my happy place.
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I've noticed something about civil servants – they are incredibly possessive of office supplies. It's like they guard those pens and notepads like they're ancient artifacts. You try to borrow a pen, and suddenly it's a negotiation process that involves signing three forms in triplicate. I went to the office the other day and asked a co-worker for a pen. They looked at me like I had asked for their firstborn child. "You want my pen? What's next, my stapler? Are you trying to start a rebellion against office supplies tyranny?" I didn't realize asking for a pen was the equivalent of storming the Bastille.
And don't even get me started on the office coffee. It's like a war zone in the break room. If you didn't contribute to the coffee fund, you might as well be trying to steal the Crown Jewels. I tried to make a cup of coffee, and someone gave me the stink eye like I was stealing national secrets. Newsflash, Karen, it's just decaf.
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Have you ever noticed that the office copier is always strategically placed in the most inaccessible corner of the office? It's like they want to test your problem-solving skills every time you need to make a copy. It's the Crystal Maze of the office world. I needed to make copies the other day, and I embarked on a quest to find the hidden copier. I felt like Indiana Jones searching for the Holy Grail. I turned corners, climbed stairs, and crossed deserts (okay, maybe not deserts, but it felt like it). When I finally reached the copier, I half-expected a choir of angels to sing hallelujah.
And then there's the constant battle with paper jams. It's like the copier has a personal vendetta against me. I put the paper in, press the button, and suddenly it starts making noises like it's possessed. I'm convinced the copier is haunted by the ghosts of all the documents it has eaten over the years.
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You know, I've been thinking about civil servants lately. They call them civil servants, but I think they missed an opportunity to call them "government workout instructors." I mean, have you ever seen a civil servant move in a hurry? It's like watching a sloth try to break the land speed record. They're the only people who can turn a fire drill into a nap time. I went to the DMV the other day, and I swear I aged ten years waiting in line. I approached the counter, and the person behind it looked at me like I was interrupting their Netflix binge. I said, "I'm here to renew my license," and they responded, "Well, we're here to provide exceptional service." Exceptional service? I didn't realize exceptional service came with a side of attitude and a dash of disdain.
You know you're in trouble when the highlight of your day is getting a number and waiting for it to be called. I felt like I was at a deli, except instead of getting a sandwich, I got a lecture on the importance of form 27B/6. It's like they have a secret handbook titled "How to Make Simple Tasks Complicated: A Civil Servant's Guide.
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