A tale of two sitees: the long version of Erica said so

Once upon a time, I met Erica at our desk jobs, a place we were both excited to be. But then one day, maybe like a week later, we both realized that the place we worked, in fact, sucked. It sucked more than a Dyson; and we’re not talking a handheld Dyson, or even the household version, here. We’re talking the industrial kind. The kind that is strapped to a generator and used to clean the streets after a ticker-tape parade. So for a while, we gave each other knowing looks across the bay (the cluster of desks, not the water), but that palpable suck went unmentioned. We wiled the time away, trying to pretend the suck wasn’t there by planning company-sponsored parties, making life-sized gingerbread houses out of cardboard, and crafting hideous witches using Laura Bush masks. What I am trying to say is: at the very least, we tried. We tried hard. But it wasn’t enough. Like most tornadoes, the suck was unavoidable and inescapable, no matter how hard we closed our eyes and plugged our ears while humming. Erica was the smarter of the two, and also possessed a fancy degree from a fancy place, ergo, she had Magical Options. This heroine, on the other hand, did not have such a fancy thing, so while Erica mustered up the courage to break free, I was stuck, sucked further and further into the sinkhole, which became less bearable as Erica rode off into the sunset. I pressed my face against the windows of my cubicle and watched her become a dot on the horizon as my cubicle twirled further and further, faster and more violently with each twist, up the tornado, with only play-doh, gofugyourself.com, and a small, faded sticker labeled “Erca Shrn” left to trade knowing glances with (un-satisfyingly one-sided glances, as I am sure you can imagine). As I saw her wave from the ground, though, I knew that there was a way out, and that made all the difference.