Jake blinked at the blinking billboard above the infinite cubicles:
"YOUR COMPLAINT IS IN THE QUEUE. ESTIMATED WAIT TIME: SEVERAL QUANTUM LIFETIMES."
Greg muttered, "At this point, I'd get through faster waiting for a fair presidential election on Earth."
Jake snorted. "You mean one where nobody hacks the voting machines, bribes the election officials, or summons a voting fraud demon from the Ninth Dimension?"
Greg grimaced. "Exactly. Speaking of, did you know cosmic elections work the same way? Except the candidates are literally shapeshifting propaganda algorithms, and the campaign promises all come with black hole clauses?"
Jake raised an eyebrow. "That explains why every cosmic election ends with everyone voting for the 'No-Existence Party.'"
Suddenly, the Supreme Overlady Karen stormed past with a new gadget—a cosmic voting machine that printed complaints instead of ballots.
"I DEMAND a recount! Twice! And an immediate audit of the black hole voting records!"
Lord BoomBoom laughed, lighting a cigar shaped like a nuclear warhead. "Buddy, the last time they audited those, the whole galaxy almost collapsed under the paperwork."
Duchess Sassy summoned a viral flash mob chanting, "Vote early! Vote often! Vote in another dimension!"
Dr. Moist slithered behind them, leaving slippery slime trails that caused anyone trying to protest to comically slide away mid-sentence.
Jake sighed. "The whole system's rigged from the quantum start."
Greg nodded, flipping through his "Universal Policies for the Apocalyptic CEO" manual, stained with cosmic coffee. "And don't even get me started on how racism literally runs the cosmic customer service department."
Jake blinked. "Racism… in space?"
Greg frowned. "Yeah. Turns out the 'Moist Underground' faction is discriminated against because, well, everything about them is too slippery to be trusted. So they get stuck with the worst tasks—like handling calls from angry nebula dwellers who hate their gooey accents."
Jake winced. "That's awful. So what, they just keep getting pushed down the cosmic corporate ladder?"
Greg grimaced. "Exactly. Meanwhile, the Meme Kingdom gets special viral privileges, like instant promotions for every successful dance trend. Which explains their suspiciously high morale and the endless TikTok battles."
Jake shook his head. "Sounds like every office I've ever worked in."
Suddenly, the Manager's voice crackled through the cosmic loudspeakers:
"ATTENTION: Due to recent complaints regarding unfair cosmic corporate practices, the 'Universal Inclusion Initiative' has been postponed indefinitely pending a 'budget review.' Please continue to hold and enjoy this exclusive 'Existence Anxiety' playlist."
The playlist started playing distorted versions of Earth's greatest hits… but with lyrics about existential dread, bureaucratic nightmares, and the crushing weight of unpaid cosmic overtime.
Karen groaned, pulling out a megaphone. "We demand cosmic HR! Also, free coffee and better healthcare benefits!"
Lord BoomBoom snorted, tossing a grenade-shaped phone. "Good luck. Their benefits package includes one universal hug per solar cycle."
Jake chuckled dryly. "This is starting to feel like my last job — except with way more explosions and interdimensional lawsuits."
Greg nodded. "And don't forget the conspiracy theories. Some factions swear the entire cosmic customer service system was created just to distract everyone from the fact that the Big Bang was a cover-up for a massive failed cosmic bake sale."
Jake laughed so hard he nearly dropped his coffee. "A failed bake sale? Seriously?"
Greg shrugged. "Hey, when you're dealing with infinite bureaucrats, anything is plausible."
Suddenly, the billboard flashed a new message:
"YOUR COMPLAINT HAS BEEN FLAGGED FOR 'EXCESSIVE SASS.' PLEASE REDUCE SARCASM TO PROCEED."
Jake rolled his eyes. "I'm definitely not passing that one."
Greg smirked. "Me neither. Looks like the cosmic hold queue just became our new permanent residence."
Jake sighed, adjusting his sunglasses. "Great. I always wanted to be trapped in a never-ending nightmare of cosmic customer service... with the worst hold music ever."
As the robotic pigeon returned, now sporting a little union badge and a coffee cup, it chirped:
"Reminder: Cosmic customer service agents are unionizing for better multiversal conditions. Your complaint matters—except when it doesn't."
Jake groaned. "I'm gonna need a vacation."
Greg chuckled, "From existence itself? Good luck getting that approved."