Today, we gathered in a cramped, windowless conference room deep beneath the earth's surface, surrounded by the constant hum of existential dread.
We began with a spirited discussion of the meaninglessness of life, which devolved into a heated debate over whose turn it was to refill the coffee pot.
After a grueling hour and a half, we broke for lunch, during which time I was forced to confront the crushing ennui of the vending machine's offerings.
Following lunch, we returned to our discussion of the futility of existence, but were interrupted by the sound of our supervisor's voice, reminding us that we're not actually allowed to have meetings in the server room.
As we packed up and prepared to leave, I couldn't help but think: "What's the point of any of it?"
See also: Meaninglessness of Life Meeting #3: The Quest for More Meeting Minutes
Or: Meaninglessness of Life Meeting #5: The Search for More Meeting Minutes (But with More Coffee)