I’m the person who designs offices that have no walls or sound barriers so you have a tighter sense of community while you and your coworkers shout over each other into your telephones. When I first planned these indoor hellscapes, I asked myself, What would I want if I ever had to work in an office building? and I decided, noise, lots of it, constantly competing. So much explosive sound that you can’t think, hear, or work.

Listen, I’m a designer, not an office rat. I create spaces that aren’t functional for the people using them, but that look cool to me. I like cold concrete, tall plants, and a couple of hard couches where you can have public mental breakdowns. I couldn’t possibly know what works best in an office building that I never intend to have to be in, but I can tell you what looks good, and that’s a large space filled with miserable people.

I also design other things that you can’t afford. It’s called art. You don’t have to like it, but you do have to spend fifty hours a week inside it for the rest of your life. My firm has an open plan, too, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I don’t work there, but everyone seems happy, when I look out onto the paddock full of workers I keep below the soundproof windows in my separate office that I don’t use. When I walk through the mosh pit of employees, everyone is pleasant and unbothered, or I fire them.

No one wants to work anymore; that’s the problem. Everyone is too lazy to yell over each other for eight to twelve hours so that they can collect a nice paycheck that covers some of their expenses, but definitely not all. You seem to be on a budget. Have you thought about having more roommates than there are rooms in your apartment? Have you thought about selling your dog? Your car? You don’t have a car? How do you get here? The BUS?! Gross.

I have lots of money, but it doesn’t have anything to do with my family, gender, race, health, or luck. It’s because I worked hard, something you wouldn’t know anything about, because I see here you only work, wow, seventy hours a week. How many hours are even in a week? God, I’m a little foggy from the nap I just took in my private office. I’m going through a divorce. You don’t want to hear about that, though. I’ll keep it between myself and the therapist I don’t have.

What were we talking about? It’s loud in here, isn’t it? The acoustics in this concrete silo of hell I created are incredible. It’s like standing in a high school gymnasium while every sport is being played at the same time by animals in distress. I love teamwork. I love it for other people who aren’t me.