The book is narrated collectively by the employees of a Chicago ad agency: "We were fractious and overpaid. Our mornings lacked promise. At least those of us who smoked had something to look forward to at ten-fifteen." It's 2000, business is slow, and layoffs are underway.
The staff copes with the stress as does any office -- through gossip, wasting time, and playing bizarre practical jokes on one another. There's not a lot of plot as such, though there is a mystery surrounding the boss, Lynn, who may or may not be suffering from a life-threatening illness.
The strength of the book is in the way Ferris captures the mind-numbing details of office existence. Take this description, for instance:
Seven tables and three vending machines under a dismal light -- that was our cafeteria. We'd call it a break room but "break room" might imply something to look forward to. On our rare trips to the cafeteria, we got what we needed from the vending machines and then we got the hell out. Eating there was never an option because the lights, the chairs -- it was as depressing as a hospital waiting room, but absent any magazines or lifesaving devices. No one ever took comfort in the cafeteria. The perfect place to await your self-help group's arrival -- that was the kindest description we could give to it.
I'd feared that the collective narration would get tiresome, but Ferris manages to create a range of distinctive characters whose personalities shine through despite the narrative gimmick. (And there is an unexpected break from the "we"-narrator partway through the book, in one of the book's best chapters.)
The final chapters of the book fall a bit flat, mainly due to an unnecessary meta-twist that doesn't work very well, but getting there is enough fun that the book is still worth your while.
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