Office Space Humor in Federal Government and a funny joke about kicking the can in the federal government. Sorry, but in some cases the stereotypes are in fact true.

The Wild and Wacky World of Federal Government Office Space

Working in a federal government office is like living in a sitcom where all the punchlines are wrapped in red tape, and the laugh track is the sound of printers jamming. But, hey, it’s the dream, right? Pension, benefits, and an endless supply of passive-aggressive emails about the office coffee pot.

Take the place I worked at—your classic gray cubicle farm, complete with flickering fluorescent lights that gave the whole office a “hospital in the 90s” vibe. But here, the real drama wasn’t in the policies we were supposed to implement; it was in the little things that defined our workdays, like the epic battles over thermostat settings, the hunt for “missing” office supplies, and the constant war for the best parking spot.

Monday Morning…

It all started on a Monday morning, the kind that made you question your life choices and if you could fake a doctor’s note for “chronic not-gonna-make-it-today syndrome.” The mood was somber as people filed in, clutching their mugs of lukewarm coffee like life preservers. That’s when the first email hit.

Subject line: Re: Someone Left the Coffee Pot On. AGAIN.

Ah, yes, the coffee pot wars. Not a week went by without some poor soul forgetting to turn off the communal coffee pot, resulting in a searing hot sludge that smelled like a mix between burnt rubber and regret. Karen from Accounting was the self-appointed coffee sheriff, and she was not having it.

“Whoever left the pot on, you owe us a new one. And by us, I mean ME, because I had to clean it out. Please be considerate of your coworkers.”

Now, Karen was notorious for being the office vigilante. Last week, she’d put up laminated instructions above the printer that were very specific about the proper way to load paper. Legend has it, she once single-handedly wrote a 10-page manual on “The Etiquette of Using the Microwave.” A riveting read, let me tell you.

I hadn’t even finished reading Karen’s email when another one hit my inbox.

Subject line: Parking Spot Bandit Strikes Again

Oh, right. The parking situation. Our office had a coveted lot with a prime spot right next to the door, which, for the last week, had been taken by a mysterious car that didn’t belong to anyone in our department. The car didn’t even have the correct permit. Naturally, this was a big deal.

Randy from HR had launched a full-scale investigation, complete with blurry surveillance footage he’d pulled from the security cameras. It had become a daily update in the office newsletter, with Randy giving us status reports like he was hosting a true-crime podcast.

“Folks,” Randy would say during our morning meetings, “we have reason to believe the Parking Spot Bandit is someone inside the building. Possibly… someone among us.”

You’d think this was some sort of espionage ring, but no—it was just about who got to avoid walking the extra 20 feet from the back of the lot.

By Lunchtime…

By lunchtime, I was already exhausted from all the drama. That’s when the real horror struck: someone had stolen my stapler. Again.

Now, in a federal office, the stapler is sacred. It’s not just a tool; it’s a symbol of power. The person with the stapler controls the pace of paperwork. And mine? It was my stapler. A sleek, red Swingline I’d personally ordered because, frankly, I wasn’t going to deal with the cheap, jam-prone ones the office stocked. I had standards.

I marched over to my cubicle neighbor, Doug. Doug was a serial stapler thief. He’d taken mine at least three times before. His desk was a mess of paper piles, office supplies that looked like they’d survived a war, and a stash of granola bars he thought nobody knew about. But I knew about them, Doug.

“Seen my stapler?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Doug didn’t even look up. “Check Karen’s desk.”

Karen? Really? I made my way over, heart racing with a mix of fear and anticipation. Karen was out for lunch, which meant I had the opportunity to perform a daring recon mission. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then stealthily peeked inside her drawer.

There it was. My stapler. The betrayal stung like a paper cut.

I was about to grab it when Karen strolled back in, holding her perfectly portioned salad like a trophy. I froze. She saw me at her desk, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Just… looking for a pen,” I mumbled.

She raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

I quickly retreated, vowing to reclaim my stapler another day. Karen might’ve won this round, but the war was far from over.

Back at my desk…

Back at my desk, I was just about to dive into some actual work (shocking, I know), when the final email of the day came through:

Subject line: URGENT: Meeting at 2 PM to Discuss the Use of Paper Clips

I couldn’t make this up if I tried. Apparently, someone had been using the “nice” paper clips—the ones we were supposed to reserve for official correspondence—on personal projects. Doug. It was definitely Doug.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Another day in paradise. As much as I joked about it, this place was its own kind of battlefield. Sure, there were no explosions, no life-or-death situations. But there was Karen. And Doug. And the Parking Spot Bandit. And sometimes, that was enough to keep you on your toes.

At least the paycheck showed up on time.

It’s hard to believe, but some of the comics I whipped up during my 20-year military career have actually made it to print! These humorous, and occasionally sharp-edged, reflections are fueled by amazing mentors, awesome friends, and a serious appreciation for sarcasm. Check them out on Amazon: Amazon The Frontlines or check out The Frontlines Shop

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