You've been stuck in this never-ending meeting for hours, and it's only getting worse. The fluorescent lights overhead are like a thousand tiny daggers to the eyes, and the air is thick with the stench of stale coffee and desperation.
The meeting room is a dimly lit, windowless box, with walls that seem to close in on you like the jaws of a vise. The only sound is the drone of the projector, casting an eerie glow on the whiteboard behind the presenter, who drones on and on about "synergy" and "disruption."
You've tried to escape, but the door is sealed shut, trapping you in this living hell. The only way out is through, but that means facing the horror that awaits you on the outside: rush hour.
You've seen it all before: the pointless Powerpoint, the awkward small talk, the "team-building" exercises that end in a game of "Trust Falls" gone wrong. But this, this is different. This is the Commute of Despair.