John used to wrestle bears. Well, not really, but he definitely looked like someone who could. Six feet of raw ambition wrapped in flannel and facial hair. The kind of guy who knew how to change a tire, fix a leak, and survive in the wilderness with nothing but a paperclip and pure willpower.
Now? He clicks buttons.
His calendar looks like a game of Tetris played by someone having an existential crisis. Between the "quick syncs" and "alignment meetings," he's mastered the art of looking busy while his soul slowly exits his body through his ergonomic office chair.
The real tragedy? This apex predator spends his days hunting for the right Jira ticket status. His fingers, once calloused from actual work, now sport premium ergonomic calluses from mechanical keyboard switches. His war cry has been reduced to passive-aggressive Slack reactions.
"Just following up on that thing we discussed..." Sends message Immediately regrets existence
At 3 PM, you might catch him staring into the void of his project management tool, wondering if his ancestors are disappointed. They probably are. Somewhere, a Viking is crying into his mead.
The final insult? He's actually getting good at it. His spreadsheets are immaculate. His digital workspace? Color-coded. His notifications? Zero. He's become what he feared most: efficiently domesticated.
Pour one out for John. He didn't die, but his "out of office" auto-reply is writing poetry about escaping to the mountains.