20-year-old almost college-graduated digital marketer is tired of her “corporate girlie” era and is brought to tears every Monday as her dream job turns out to be hours of commute to an uninspired office, to do no meaningful work: ‘all I wanna do is cry’

Monday: the universally acknowledged villain of the workweek, rising like a fluorescent-lit specter over the heads of office workers everywhere, striking fear into the hearts of anyone with a calendar, a commute, or a faint memory of weekend joy.  

Let me tell you, I personally despise nothing more than seeing the light in a young adult's eyes shut off and replaced with the thousand-yard stare of office despair, a sort of glazy eyed realization that sets in by week three of moving a mouse while scrolling through brainrot, pretending to work, and inwardly screaming for a single neuron to fire in the name of purpose.

Our young adult, a 20-year-old digital marketer on the cusp of graduation, once hopped out of bed to play "corporate girlie" with all the enthusiasm of a motivational Pinterest board. But fast-forward to today, and the commute alone could qualify as its own endorphin-chasing hobby, sixty, sometimes seventy-five glorious minutes each way just to scroll the internet in professional attire while perfecting the art of pretending to look busy.

The office vibe? Less Devil Wears Prada, and more Senior Citizen Bingo Ball, but with more Instagram reels and less actual accomplishments. Most colleagues are either cosplaying as extroverted teenagers despite their advanced ages, or have simply transcended the need for productivity, achieving a zen-like acceptance of prolonged nothingness. 

Meanwhile, the only thing thinner than the work assignments is the line between existential crisis and caffeine overabundance.