All-hands conference call

The notion that gathering 17 people around the world to stop what they're doing and listen to someone run through a spreadsheet for an hour and a half is in some way a sensible idea.

Made insufferably worse when, unexpectedly, the group gets through the agenda more quickly than expected and the call leader says, “okay, we still have thirty five minutes left ...” as if sitting on your tedious conference call isn’t the worst conceivable use of anyone’s time, patience or goodwill.

The worst kind of conference call, with countless participants, redundantly representing all different walks of departmental life, each to donate an hour of their sorry existence in deference of the great dogma and the cast iron guarantee that nothing will be achieved beyond ratcheting the tedium and entropy in the organisation ever nearer that threshold of boredom heat death at which point all our trials will be over, the great day of judgement will be upon us, and we will at last be delivered from our suffering.

When the guy who has been droning in a Jersey monotone for 47 minutes says “I’m conscious that time is precious”.