Office yourself – it's all you're really good for.
Get in your sad little wallet-burner bucket and drive on bad roads in bumper-to-bumper traffic or get on a weird stinky bus or train with sticky seats for 2 hours to a downtown area overrun with desperate and armed people at their wits' end living in torn tents and shanty trash-tarp and urine-soaked wood shacks surrounded by garbage (broken glass, random filthy car parts, fresh and old vomit chunks, dead birds and car-squashed squirrels, drug needles, and more) all stinking like some kind of human waste and city animal feces chili.
Be in an office – it's all you're worth.
Park your little rust-nugget in a dirty, overpriced, smelly cracked blacktop lot where car break-ins happen every hour. Or step off the shaky you-now-have-permanent-hearing-loss public transit into a sad and depressed herd of other people just like you, all having to step over your houseless neighbors passed-out drunk or high or both, sleeping, or possibly dead bodies face-down on the sidewalk or curled up in a gutter or around one of those sad little city trees surrounded by jagged cement and years of grease and grime. All just so you can get to the rundown dinge of an unsafe building housing a tiny little desk with a tiny little slow computer that you sit in front of for 8 to 12 hours.
Get back to the office – it's the most normal thing in the world.
Sit in an outdated and dilapidated sorry excuse of an office chair. Stare blankly at a motivational poster of a silly but simple looking cat having an infinitely better day than you, no matter how you look at it. And endure the splendor of sharing that feeling with everyone else in the building – all doing more or less the exact same thing as you, but somehow for slightly more money than you, even though you've been there longer than everyone – but you'll never know why, because to raise concern about it means being fired – having to live in one of the tents or tarp-huts outside the tiny window with bars at the end of the hall (the one employees are encouraged not to look out of, as it interferes with workplace productivity).
Get in that office maggot. Wriggle up some money.
Drink bad coffee and cheap hot chocolate packets all day until you poop your pants – you earned it. You deserve a little (no more than 3 and half minutes) bathroom break for sending your CEO into the stratosphere. Celebrate your office life with the comfort that you've helped that one-person achieve their lifelong goal of using people just like yourself to make it all happen. And congratulate yourself by repeating this until you're 65 and a half years old with cancer (the kind you get from the chemicals used to make cheap office buildings) and an ex-spouse and children who resent you for spending too much time at the office. Give away all of your youth in exchange for this grand opportunity. It's a dream come true.
Office yourself. Before it's too late.