When I was about 20, I worked in an office. 
Every morning there would be that little joke, where anyone who arrived five minutes late would say 'Morning' and everyone would call back 'Afternoon'. 

The next joke would come at about 11, when the boss would take his coffee cup across to the sink to rinse it out. 
Every day he'd say, 'Just going off to wash my thing - ha ha ha.' 
And every day I wished I had the guts to wait five minutes, say 'Just going off to wash my thing,' then walk to the sink, get my knob out and scrub it with a dishcloth. 

Like most office workers, I never had any idea of the purpose of my office, though the supervisor does his best to make out the job is extremely important when you first get there. 
'Well it's a pleasure to have you with us as a vital part of the team. 
You'll be sitting here, with Harold, and every morning the newspapers will be delivered to your desk here. 
Now your job is to go through all those newspapers, one by one, very carefully indeed, and colour in the Os. 
Be very careful not to do the noughts in the sports pages, and when you've finished, hand them across to Harold for authorisation.' 

And poor Harold, who's been there 54 years, will say, 'Cor blimey, it's like a madhouse in here sometimes. 
We were in here until 20 past seven one night, you know. 
The evening newspaper had a big article about Yoko Ono going up the Orinoco, you see.'