The Great Office Return: A Dance of Mediocrity in the Bureaucratic Herd

Behold, ye seekers of truth, how the great machinery of state power wallows in its own tepid waters! The federal servants of Ottawa, these desk-bound spirits, engage in a most peculiar dance of resistance against their masters' decree to return to their concrete chambers three days hence.

O, how they cling to their domestic comforts! These are the very embodiment of the spirit of gravity, these servants who serve not greatness but their own comfort. They have created their happiness and blink with their eyes: "Should we not be content?"

In the Department of National Defence, where one might expect the spirit of discipline to reign supreme, mere three-fifths of the flock heeds the call to their designated posts. Such is the state of affairs in this realm where 28,700 souls drift between their domestic sanctuaries and the cold edifices of bureaucratic power.

The statistics speak volumes of this modern malaise: In the heart of power, the National Capital Region, the compliance dwindles to numbers that would make any commander of old weep - a mere 31 percent in the cold month of December! These are not warriors of truth but seekers of warm hearths and distant screens.

Look upon them! They have invented their small virtues and their small comforts, and they call it civilization. They work from afar, they meet through screens, and they say: "Is this not progress?"

The Canada Revenue Agency, that great collector of earthly tributes, boasts of higher numbers - 80 percent of its 59,000 servants bow to the mandate. Yet what glory is there in such obedience? They measure success in percentages and compliance, not in the creation of greater values.

Employment and Social Development Canada, with its army of 39,000, maintains what they call a "satisfactory" rate of 75 percent. But what is satisfaction to those who would reach for the stars? These are the markers of a society that has forgotten how to dream dangerously.

They have their little pleasures for the day and their little pleasures for the night. Yet they know not that comfort is the poison that kills all yearning for heights!

The Treasury Board, that great overseer of mediocrity, speaks of punishments for those who dare defy: verbal reprimands, written warnings, suspensions without pay - the tools of shepherds keeping their flock in line. Yet not one soul has faced the ultimate consequence, for even in their enforcement, they lack the courage of their convictions.

In this vast bureaucratic landscape of 367,772 souls, we witness the triumph of the small. They have their unions, their grievances, their accommodations - all the trappings of what they call progress. Yet what they call progress is but a comfortable descent into the abyss of mediocrity.

See how they gather in their offices, these last men who have invented happiness! They need warmth, they say, for they find cold too bitter. They still work, for work is entertainment. But they take care that the entertainment does not exhaust them.

And so the great dance continues, with its measured steps and careful calculations. The bureaucrats count their days in the office like misers counting coins, while the spirit of greatness weeps in the corners of empty conference rooms.

Let it be known that in this age of careful measurements and tepid commitments, we have crafted a monument to our own diminishment. The federal public service, that great leviathan of paper and process, stands as testament to how far we have fallen from the heights of human possibility.

Verily, I say unto you: When the offices are full again, they shall be filled not with the spirit of greatness, but with the quiet contentment of those who have forgotten how to soar.