Just overheard near my desk: “Mike, do you want to split a protein bar?” If Mike says ‘yes,’ it’s confirmation that we can never be friends.
I wish the donuts they occasionally put in the break room better helped me forget my divorce and my failed dreams.
I sometimes walk to the bathroom at work simply as an excuse to leave my desk.
I find the receptionist’s intense conversations with Rebekah about cats very distracting.
I’m not concerned with the volume of my typing and its effect on my coworkers because I believe that each and every keystroke should demonstrate a conviction in the righteousness of your text.