"Operation Commute"

Title: “Operation Commute”

It was a Tuesday, which meant Greg had already lost the will to pretend. He sat at his desk with a half-filled Excel sheet and a fully filled bladder, trying to decipher his job’s purpose—or any purpose, really—when his manager, Diane, burst out of her office in her usual panic-without-a-cause fashion.

“Greg,” she whispered dramatically, “we need to talk. In the Copy Room. Secure location.”

Greg sighed. The last time Diane summoned him like this, she asked if he had “intel” on who kept microwaving fish. But he followed.

The Copy Room was dark, as usual. Diane flicked on the light and held a manila folder like it contained nuclear codes.

“We’re activating Phase Four,” she said.

Greg blinked. “I was unaware of Phase One.”

“That’s how good we are.” Diane grinned. “Look, this office… it’s not just accounts receivable. It’s a hub.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. “A hub…?”

“For covert communication,” she said, eyes darting side to side like a squirrel had caffeine. “We don’t just work here. We transmit.”

Greg instinctively looked for hidden cameras. “Transmit what?”

“Information. Ideas. Emotion. Greg, you’ve been driving home for five years. And we’ve finally realized: that drive is the real work.”

“The—drive?”

She nodded solemnly. “You interact with society—gas stations, antique stores, corner delis, that weird laundromat with the cat that always looks like it’s judging you.”

“That cat is judging me,” Greg muttered.

“Exactly! You are a vessel! You carry the code. Through your mundane interactions, you are spreading subtle ideas into the world.”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “So, this report I’m doing on Q2 revenue is...?”

“Purely aesthetic,” Diane said. “The real message is in the font. Calibri. Subtle. Steady. Globalism with a hint of empathy.”

Greg stared into the void behind her. “I’ve been spreading... empathy?”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Through your Costco runs. Through small talk with baristas. Through passive-aggressive windshield wiper usage. You’re doing the Lord’s espionage.”

Greg left the Copy Room in a daze. Carol from HR passed him and winked.

“Target acquired,” she whispered, slipping a coupon for 20% off dry cleaning into his hand. He stared at it.

Later, Greg drove home like always. He stopped at the gas station. The cashier handed him change and said, “Nice weather. For now.”

Was that… a warning?

At the antique store, the clerk said, “Your aura says you’re burdened by spreadsheets. But that’s just the shell, isn’t it?”

At home, Greg looked in the mirror and asked the question that haunted him now more than ever:

“Am I a PowerPoint prophet?”

The next morning, Diane called an emergency meeting.

“I have news,” she said. “We’ve expanded. The lunch break is now considered an international outreach program. Taco Bell is a diplomatic zone. Choose your sauces wisely.”

Greg nodded. He understood now. It wasn’t about the job. It never was.

It was about the journey... and the subliminal messages in refried beans.

End.

Would you like a mock "internal memo" to go with it?

{Yes}

Absolutely! Here's your **mock internal memo**, styled in full corporate absurdity:

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**INTERNAL MEMORANDUM**

*TOP SECRET - EYES ON THE COMMUTE*

**From:** Office of Strategic Work-Life Espionage (OSWLE)

**To:** All Staff (a.k.a. Civilian Operatives)

**Subject:** Activation of Phase Four – *"The Commute is the Message"*

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**Attention Esteemed Employees / Field Vessels,**

As of 8:42 AM this morning, following a covert coffee spill (well done, Brenda), we are officially transitioning into **Phase Four** of the corporate enlightenment initiative, henceforth titled:

**"Operation: Commutewave."**

Please review the following mission-critical updates:

1. **Your Actual Work Does Not Matter**

   Reports, emails, and Zoom calls are now classified as “camouflage protocols.” Continue them only to maintain the illusion of productivity.

2. **Your Drive Home Is Now a Government-Adjacent Function**

   Be advised: each interaction you have outside these walls is a node in the greater communication web.

   * **Grocery Store = Propaganda Relay Station**

   * **Gas Station = Classified Signal Refueling Point**

   * **Antique Shop = Legacy Message Repository**

   * **Public Restrooms = Optional Morse Code Dropzones**

3. **Small Talk Is Strategic**

   Statements like “Crazy weather, huh?” or “Do you guys sell almond milk that isn’t judgy?” are to be used as encrypted linguistic payloads. Smile. Nod. Let the message transmit.

4. **HR Is Watching, But They’re Also In On It**

   Any feedback form you submit is actually a cultural temperature scan. Be honest but cryptic.

5. **Coupons Are Not What They Seem**

   Any discount over 15% is a code. Interpret wisely.

   (Refer to Appendix D: “The Domino’s Cipher”)

6. **Uniform Compliance: Business Casual Espionage**

   Blazers = rank.

   Scarves = high-level clearance.

   Socks with puns = deep cover operatives.

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**Final Notes:**

Remember: your life is now a living memo.

Every latte ordered is a whisper in the geopolitical storm.

Every bumper sticker, a manifesto.

Every delay in traffic, a recalibration of destiny.

Stay alert. Stay bland. Stay in the loop.

**And for the love of Brenda, stop using Comic Sans.**

**End of Transmission.**

*— Diane F., Director of Not-At-All-Suspicious Activities*

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Want a fake company letterhead or watermark version too?