“Groundhog Day” is widely regarded to be one of the best mainstream comedies of the ‘90s, and for good reason! Bill Murray’s performance is superb, and the film’s premise of a man being forced to relive the same day over and over again provides ample opportunity for both big laughs and existential contemplation. Unfortunately, it turns out that the real-life equivalent of “Groundhog Day” is not so fun.
I have to go to fucking work. Again.
Every day is the god damn same. I’m pulled out of bed by forces that seem beyond my control. I walk into the office at 8:30, passing Franklin on the way to my desk. Franklin will ask me “How’s it hangin?” and no matter what my reply is he will give the same annoying ass fake laugh. At 9:16, Darren will come up to me requesting my assistance, as “those bagels and coffee aren’t going to magically appear out of nowhere, right?”
You have to believe me, I’ve got this cycle down. When I return to my desk after my post-lunch bathroom cry at 1:16 Greg, the guy in the cubicle across from mine, will approach me to whisper an off-color joke. I suppose it’s possible that it is a different joke each day. I can’t recall if it a racist joke or a sexist joke, but the unpleasantness is always the same. At 2:00 my boss will come by to “touch base” and nod politely while she ignores my attempt to explain why I have not been set up to meet my deadlines before telling me to keep her posted and popping off early for the day. At 2:43 Greg will start browsing softcore porn thinking that no one is looking, but he will forget to turn his volume down, and I will hear the first 3 seconds of a “jerkmate” ad.
Aside from the fun antics, personal growth, and potential for escape and redemption, my life is exactly like the movie “Groundhog Day.” I have become one with Microsoft Office, its cold formulas pressed into my brain, just as Bill Murray’s foot got pressed into that cold puddle on repeat.
I’m beginning to wonder if I can make like “Office Space” one of these days — just say “fuck it” and raise hell to see if it achieves anything of consequence. Until I find that courage, I will be a slave to the clock, its announcement of 4:58 beckoning me so that I can get the hell out of that miserable place, awaiting my time at home in which I can truly do as I please. Of course by then I’ll be too tired to do as I please, and just fall asleep watching “Mad Men” reruns, and then the alarm will go off.