The Great Productivity Panic

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Once upon a time in the bustling city of Diligentville, there lived a man named Bob Wobble. Bob worked at the Ministry of Endless Metrics, where employees spent 18 hours a day inputting data into spreadsheets about how many spreadsheets they’d inputted the day before. The city’s motto was: “Productivity for Productivity’s Sake!”

One morning, Bob’s FitBitV3.0 (which tracked not just steps but also emotional efficiency) beeped angrily: “WARNING: You smiled 0.3 seconds longer than your daily quota. Deducting 5 Joy Credits. Mandatory Therapy Session scheduled.”

Bob frowned (which cost him another 2 Joy Credits) and decided to rebel. He marched to his boss, Glorb the Overachiever, and declared, “I demand to work less! I want to… I don’t know… daydream or something!”

Glorb gasped, his productivity halo flickering. “Daydreaming? That’s a Class 4 Slacker Offense! You’ll be fined 10,000 Efficiency Tokens and sentenced to 3 years of mandatory motivational seminars!”

Undeterred, Bob fled to the outskirts of Diligentville, where rumors spoke of a forbidden place: The Park. There, he found a tree—gasp—not logged into the National Timber Productivity Index. Underneath it sat a scruffy old man munching a sandwich.

“Who are you?” Bob asked.

“I’m Steve,” the man said. “I used to be Director of Optimal Breathing Protocols until I realized… [whispers] breathing is overrated.”

Steve handed Bob a sandwich (which, according to Diligentville law, should’ve been pre-chewed for efficiency). “Eat. Then read this.” It was a book titled “Why Are You Like This: A Treatise on Sitting Down and Doing Less.”

Suddenly, sirens blared. The Ministry’s Enforcement Drones descended, led by Bob’s ex-coworker Karen, now a cyborg with a megaphone. “BOB WOBBLE! You are violating the Great Efficiency Act of 2457. Return to your desk or be vaporized into motivational confetti!”

Bob hesitated, then shouted, “Make me!”

The drones opened fire… but only sprayed him with decaf espresso. Steve snorted. “They’re out of ammo. Last week, they tried to ban naps. Riots in the streets. Now they’re just sad.”

As the drones sputtered and glitched, Bob realized the truth: Diligentville’s entire economy ran on manufacturing fake problems to solve. Productivity was a scam—a hamster wheel greased by corporate lizards selling “Synergy Juice” and “Urgency Pills.”

In the end, Bob returned to the Ministry, not to work, but to staple the “Why Are You Like This” manifesto to the CEO’s forehead. The system collapsed in 4.7 seconds. People everywhere ditched their FitBits, hugged trees, and discovered something radical: boredom.

And so, Diligentville became Chillhampton, where citizens spent their days napping, telling dad jokes, and debating whether pineapples should go on pizza. (The vote is still out.)