You are the Lord of Spreadsheets, and you will never let anyone in the office forget it.
“Frank!” you shout, as Frank walks by your cubicle. “My spreadsheets are the most EXCEL-ent.” Frank rolls his eyes at you and leaves without a word.
You print out one of your amazing spreadsheets. It is so amazing you decide to show it to Barb. You stand up and slide the spreadsheet over the cubicle wall into Barb’s cubicle, as this is technically not in violation of the anti-harassment memo your boss sent you.
“Baaaarb!” you whisper loudly without peering over the cubicle wall.
“What, asshole?” Barb replies impatiently.
”Look upon my Microsoft Works, ye Barbie and despair!”
Barb informs you she is calling the boss, so you sneak off to the kitchen for plausible deniability.
In the kitchen you check the spreadsheet for the refrigerator, the Breadsheet, which you created to keep track of food in the refrigerator. It is incredible, but no one is using it. Well, they’ll have no excuse when Jim eats their food again.
You feel sorry for Jim sometimes, because you can hear him breathing when the office gets really quiet. You created a spreadsheet to help him diet and exercise, but apparently unsolicited health advice is considered rude.
You look over at the bulletin board and see a spreadsheet to keep track of the office bets for the big game on Sunday, and you are filled with rage. You did not make this spreadsheet, and it is terrible. Square cells? Square fucking cells?
“Fucking amateur bullshit!” you shout, and your rip the spreadsheet of the cork board. You tear it into pieces and throw it in the trash.
You know you have done God’s work. You return to your cubicle and place a check for today on your God’s work spreadsheet. Fantastic.