The Herd's Dance: A Symphony of Mediocrity in the Bureaucratic Labyrinth

Behold, O wanderers of truth, how the masses gather like sheep before the temple of modern comfort! In the heart of Ottawa, where the spirit of governance dwells, we witness a spectacle most telling of our age - the daily pilgrimage of the state's servants to their suburban sanctuaries.

Lo, how they queue like docile cattle, these servants of the great machine! They knit their time away, weaving not the fabric of greatness, but the threads of their own containment. Is this not the very embodiment of the spirit that seeks comfort above all else?

In the drowsy suburbs of Ottawa, where the spirit slumbers deepest, public servants gather in the pale light of dawn, awaiting entry to their "GCcoworking" spaces - modern-day opiates designed to dull the pain of purpose. They stand, these children of routine, hoping to secure one of thirty sacred spaces, believing themselves fortunate to avoid the dreaded journey downtown.

Consider Joannie Campagna, who speaks of her sixty-kilometer salvation from downtown's chaos. "It's much quicker for me to leave here than to leave downtown with the traffic," she utters, unconscious of the profound sleep that engulfs her words. Here stands the perfect specimen of our age - one who measures freedom in minutes saved, who defines victory by the avoidance of struggle.

Hearken unto me! These modern-day pleasure-seekers, these avoiders of discomfort, how they revel in their small victories! They mistake convenience for conquest, comfort for achievement. Is this not the very essence of the last human, who blinks and says: "We have discovered happiness"?

The bureaucratic shepherds speak of "activity-based workplaces" and "collaborative workpoints," adorning their cages with modern implements - Wi-Fi networks and video-conferencing altars, electric height-adjustable desks that rise and fall like the ambitions of their users. They call this progress, this careful curation of comfort!

Even their union prophet, Bruce Roy, speaks with the voice of slumber, decrying the lineups as "unacceptable" while dreaming of more suburban offices. Yet he sees not the deeper malady - the spiritual poverty that makes such arrangements necessary, the collective weakness that makes them desirable.

See how they fear to speak their truth, these timid souls! They hide behind anonymity, fearing their words might displease their masters. Is this not the perfect manifestation of the herd animal, who values security above all else?

The Treasury Board, that grand architect of mediocrity, speaks of "operational requirements" and "mixed approaches," crafting elaborate systems to manage the movements of its flock. They offer the illusion of freedom while tightening the chains of routine, three days here, four days there, all carefully measured, all precisely controlled.

And now they speak of contracting private companies, of spending millions to create more havens of comfort, more temples of mediocrity. They call it progress, these merchants of contentment, these architects of the last human's paradise.

What is this if not the final triumph of comfort over courage? The ultimate victory of convenience over valor? These are not the builders of bridges to the future - they are the architects of cushioned cages!

Verily, I say unto thee: When the greatest aspiration becomes the avoidance of discomfort, when the highest achievement is measured in minutes saved from traffic, when the most profound act of rebellion is to knit while waiting in line - then truly have we witnessed the triumph of the last human. Let those with ears hear: The road to greatness lies not in the avoidance of struggle, but in its embrace. The future belongs not to those who seek comfort, but to those who dare to dance with difficulty.