Would you rather rehome your dog so you can participate in office-sanctioned mandatory fun like “Treat Thursdays” or dress your dog in a toque blanche and stage him cooking penne a la vodka for the most recent season of his YouTube channel “Woofgang Pup Does Italy: Let’s Get GabaGoofy” on your lunch break?

Would you rather spend 25% of your paycheck on Everlane’s “Sims 2 Fall/Winter ‘23 collection” or trompe l'oeil mascara onto your face with a free Zoom filter?

Would you rather wake up every day at 5 AM to commute an hour and a half one way so you can get to work on time or accidentally tell your boss to “slay, mama!” during your performance review because the internet has destroyed your brain the house boots down, Houston I’m deceased?

Would you rather spend eight hours per day, five days per week building slide decks only you will see in an open plan office that’s recently implemented a “hotel desk” policy or spend 30 minutes per day snuggling under the three heirloom quilts required to select the perfect gif to comment on a question leadership won’t ever answer about recent adjustments made to the company bonus structure on Slack?

Would you rather serve merely as one additional body in the mass of bodies used to prop up your local real estate oligarch's suite of investment properties or would you rather quickly turn your camera off because you forgot you were wearing a shirt that says, “Ask me about my tig ol’ bitties”?

Would you rather have Sandra grill you about your weekend plans while John drops multiple puns as Martin repeatedly asks you if you “followed all that?” which you didn’t, but not because (as Martin suspects) you’re the village idiot but rather, you microdosed a little too hard on your way into this hellscape of forced human interaction we call a “work family” so your eyes are a little unfocused and your soul a little dead and also, a little bit because you don’t know what he’s talking about or would you rather fold laundry during the team strategy meeting1?

Would you rather block off 15 minutes in your calendar in order to eat a $26 designer salad alone at your desk uninterrupted or block off 45 minutes in your calendar labeled “Quarterly planning” to drink a shower beer?

Would you rather be guilted into attending a weekly happy hour branded as “fun” and “team building” where all you will talk about is work because you’ve built no real, substantial connections with your colleagues beyond the walls of your office despite having “bring your full self to work” as one of your company’s cultural pillars or would you rather watch your children grow up?

1 Still having microdosed a bit too hard.