Likely Normal

Every workplace has its own version of initiation by tedium—a sacred tradition where new employees must prove their worth by enduring soul-crushing tasks that serve no purpose other than to break their spirit. Whether it’s manually updating a 500-row spreadsheet that could easily be automated, alphabetizing files that no one will ever look at, or being assigned the Sisyphean task of organizing the supply closet, only for it to descend back into chaos within 48 hours, drudge work is the corporate world’s way of saying, “Welcome to the team. Now suffer.”

Some companies frame it as a rite of passage, pretending there’s wisdom to be gained from data entry so monotonous it makes watching paint dry seem like an extreme sport. “We all did it when we started!” chirps the manager who hasn’t touched a spreadsheet since 2012. Others weaponize it as punishment for minor offenses—show up late once, and suddenly you’re the designated coffee-stain-scrubber for the break room microwave. Forget to CC the boss on an email? Enjoy your new weekend project: digitizing the company’s archive of faxes from the Reagan era.

The real joke? Most of this work is pointless by design. That database you spent three weeks cleaning? It’s obsolete. The inventory you painstakingly recounted? The system auto-updates. The 40-page report you formatted to perfection? It will be glanced at once, then buried in a digital graveyard labeled Q3 Archives (Do Not Open). But hey, at least you’ve earned your stripes—or, more accurately, your permanent eye twitch.

Drudge work doesn’t build character—it just proves how much character you’ll sacrifice for a paycheck.