Les Miserables Makes Me Slightly Less Miserable

Much of how I ruined the workplace has to do with the accommodations that I, as a woman, require. Because of me, male employees are no longer allowed to make lewd jokes, hold men-only work gatherings, or type with their penises. Yes, this has ruined the workplace, although it has also drastically reduced typos.

I also insisted that our company upgrade to more woman-friendly lighting. Specifically, with the fixtures that I made from feminine-hygiene products. There’s been a lot of buzz about our beautiful new tampondelabra.

I try to make ruining the workplace a daily practice. Like this morning, when I practiced “being a daredevil” and crashed my sedan into our reception area. Yes, Beth may never walk without a limp, but she’ll understand. She’s a woman.

Plus, this now gives me the opportunity to remodel our entryway into a giant, exquisitely detailed vulva. Boom—workplace ruined.

While I am having the time of my goddam life ruining the workplace, I’m honestly just building upon the innate differences between men and women. Argue all you want, but men are simply stronger and more assertive. Women are sensitive, empathetic, and good at filling your car with bees. And those differences are what compel me to keep ruining the workplace, day after day, headbutt after headbutt.

For example, as a result of my natural, ladylike passivity, some of my attempts to ruin the workplace have gone unnoticed for weeks. Such as how I smeared suet on your windowsills, in an attempt to recruit and train more pigeons to do my womanly bidding (to shit on your windowsills).

Other ways that I ruined the workplace hit you in the face right when you walk in. Like the bucket of rocks I installed that hits you in the face right when you walk in.

Of course, as with any stereotype, there are exceptions. Many would agree that women are more submissive (“worriers,” not “warriors”) and are therefore averse to healthy workplace conflict. Not me—I resolve all differences by bludgeoning my colleagues with a stapler.

Some of the ways I’ve ruined the workplace are just part of a larger demographic shift. Institutions like mine that were once majority male are now majority female. Which means that I’m not the only one who’s ruined the workplace by taking paid family leave, or, as I like to call it, Relax-2-Da-Max Pajama-Mama Babycation, Feat. Margs and Pedicures.

That particular incident also led me to ruin our small conference room by turning it into a nursing room. And our spare fridge into a fridge for breast milk, and suet.

By now, my colleagues have grown accustomed to my gleeful ruination of the workplace. But there have been complaints. Oh, I’ve heard the whispers: “Ugh, does she have to microwave fish?” Yes, Tim, I have to microwave my fish, the one I pulled from the Gowanus Canal. It needs to be preheated before I tuck it above the ceiling tiles.

I will say, I have not ruined the workplace with any of my lunches. I never bring one. Because yours are always there.

Even if I wanted to push back, there’s no doubt that I’m the woman who ruined the workplace. I’ll readily admit that I’m the one who convinced the head of our company to use Microsoft Teams.

Listen, as the self-appointed workplace-ruinin’ girly girl, I’m well aware that women are famous for apologizing. I’m no different. That’s why, every quarter hour, I blast my Apology Airhorn. But I just can’t say I’m sorry for ruining the workplace. To do so would imply remorse. And how can I be remorseful for behavior that is inherent to womanhood? For traits given to womankind by our Creator, along with a penchant for miniature vases and novels in which faerie kings have rough sex with you?

For goodness’ sake, should the soaring eagle apologize for its flight? Should a horse apologize for doing horse stuff?