THE STUDENT SLACKER
If I had a quid for every time I’ve had a shit at work? Ah that’s right. I do. Sometimes 2 or more. There’s little more satisfying than calculating the cheddar you’ve stacked pooping on company time.
The Student Slacker has their shirking strategy on lockdown. They operate in the shadows, maneuvering through CCTV blind spots with Metal Gear Solid-esque stealth to secure a moment’s qualm-free cotching. Such is the regularity of their impunctuality, in snide staff room whispers they are referred to like the deceased.
Master tacticians in effort avoidance , they perform tasks as poorly as possible to reduce the danger of any future recurrences.
Peripheral vision honed, they can sense a manager’s approach and seamlessly adapt an inappropriate, anecdote-accompanying gesture into a seemingly genuine effort at size-ordering hangers.
They only work either stonkingly high or hungover or the groggy amalgamation of the two. Despite teetering on the cusp of dismissal, they are impervious to managerial threats as they couldn’t give an infinite quantity of shits about their ‘future at this company.’
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