Mencius Moldbugman

At least you can rest at the weekend. Although you’ll probably have to work on Saturday to make up for all the time lost this week. And Sunday is Family Day. Then it will be Monday again. You gaze at the marketing girl again. You’re 35. You have wasted your life.

A group of colleagues walk past to leave and ask if you’re joining for Thursday drinks. You smile weakly and say you have work to do. “You shouldn’t work so hard.” says one. “Tomorrow’s Friday! TGIF!” Yes. Tomorrow’s Friday. So why does it still feel like Monday?

The rosy fingers of dawn extend westward reaching you from your impromptu grief-hole that you made under your desk. You want to wash and clean yourself as much as possible in the toilets before anyone enters. The broom of Maria the cleaner nudges you awake. She laughs at you.

You take off all your clothes and wash yourself naked in the All-Gender toilet with a tiny tiny hand soap hoping nobody will enter. You can’t brush your teeth so you steal one of the “welcome mints” from reception then scurry back to your desk.

You get back to your desk just as the rest of the office arrives. You hear their noise before they arrive. Every guy is wearing a dress. They have promised to “walk a mile in HER shoes”. The white knights laugh at you like you’re a freak and ask why you’re not wearing a dress.

This is for a good cause. It’s for trans Somalian kids. What the fuck is wrong with you? Zoe from HR has brought in her dead mother’s dress especially. She waves it in front of you. Everybody is clapping and cheering. They want you to wear the dress.

“It’s Friday!” they shout. “Come on bro!” yell some of the boys. “Are you afraid you’re fucking gay or what?” shouts the Head of Respect & Equality. You enter the toilet and wear the dress. There is a used tampon on the seat. You wonder if you need to stick it up your ass.

You exit the toilet wearing a dress and a bloody tampon drilled up your anus. In your time at this company you have created a new database, hired a new overseas team,, and upskilled two dozen interns. However, nobody has ever looked at you with the respect they give you now.

You return to your desk. You only have 5 minutes before it is time for your performance review. You tried all night to think about objectives and goals. However all you want to say is that you just want to be left alone. If you’re just left alone you can do your job fine.

(That’s all you ever wanted. You never bothered anything else. You only wanted to be left alone. Why couldn’t anyone understand that? You’re good at what you do. But nobody ever left you alone long enough to prove that. All you ever wanted was to work hard and do a good job.)

The boss calls you into her office. She tells you to sit. She has heard many complaints about you. You used the wrong tone to HR Zoe. You raised your voice to a person of colour in IT. Your invoices are late. You lack team spirit. You tried to put a pizza through expenses.

You try to explain. You hope she understands. She was promoted to this position, so surely she must be senior/experienced enough to understand that all complaints are multi-faceted? She went to Wharton?! You watch her pick her ear with a biro. You realise you’re screwed.

Your boss looks at you with the upmost seriousness. “I like you,” she says. “You have a lot of potential.” You nod, sensing the upcoming “but”. “But... you’re a smart guy,” she says. “But, but, but...” “You know how it is,” she says, with a smile...

She’s really looking you in the eye now. You feel like you’re about to enter a special club. “There are many complaints. Many complaints. However, your work is good. Potentially you could get promoted...” She stares at you with a distant distant look. You don’t yet understand.

“What? What do you need to do?” you exclaim. “I’ve been here for 4 years! I’m ready for upskilling!” Your boss shakes her head. “Oh, my sweet summer boy! It’s not a question of skills. You’re more than capable. But there’s a small problem...”

She explains how you are a valued talent of the company. She emphasises how your skills are appreciated. However, she whispers, the company is committed to equity. Very very committed. She would love to promote you... but she only has quota for one female manager this year.

Your boss stares you in the eye. “Do you understand what I am saying?” Before she can finish a girl from Marketing barges in and hands you a slice of Jane’s birthday cake. Jane from Finance is now vegan. The cake slice looks like your grandmother’s bowel cancer.

The cake wiggles and squirms in front of you. “It’s a new kind of birthday cake,” your boss says. “No meat, no cruelty, just 100% kindness and a commitment to make the world a better place!” She stares at you. “Do you understand?” she says.

You want to tell her how everyone is late for meetings. You want to tell her how it’s not your fault: IT only works 50% of the time. You want to tell her how you have no time for work. You want to declare that this is not a #greatplacetowork but instead Hell on Earth.

Your boss looks at you. She’s almost weeping. She has deep expressive feminine eyes. “Are you committed to gender balance?” she asks. “Yes,” you say. Your boss looks at you like a Grecian Oracle. “We can only offer this promotion to a woman,” she says. “”Are you a woman?”

It’s 12pm. You’re hungry. You want to eat. You have 10 years of JAVA coding experience but all that seems to matter is slicing your cock off and declaring yourself oppressed.

You look around. The walls are covered in pride posters, asexual posters, bisexual posters, pansexual posters, every & all kinds of deviancy. Everyone has always hated you at your company but now they come to applaud. A mob of pink-haired weaklings carries you on their shoulders.

Everybody is gathered around you now. Your boss. Zoe from HR. Maria the Cleaner. The brown fellas from IT. Everybody. How did they get a day? “Come out! Come out!” they say. “It’s National Coming Out Day!” YOU. MUST. SUBMIT!

You scream. You shout. “I’m not gay! I’m not gay!” We can only offer this promotion to a woman,” she says. “”Are you a woman?” It’s Friday afternoon.

You think about the prospect of promotion and nod your head. You stare your boss in the eye. Finally, you feel that you are not fighting anymore. They offer you a seat in the pod. The marketing people offer a cake that wiggles and squirms in front of you.

“I will not sit in a pod,” you type as your terrible terrible week throws you back into the repetition of last Monday. “I will not eat bugs!” you retweet as you find this 75+ plus twitter thread vaguely unsatisfying and see your media account dissolve and disappear forever.

“I WILL NOT LIVE IN THE POD,” you shout! “I WILL NOT EAT BUGS!” @Follow @bronzeagemantis... you type... I think that’s what I need to do... yes?” I’m sorry. I can’t help you. You’re sitting in the pod. You’re eating bugs. You tried hard... but YOU ARE GAY! You click retweet