Skip to content
Day 847 of the 90-Day Challenge

OUR STORY

Where Productivity Goes to Die

Day 1.

I bought a yo-yo.

Not because I wanted a yo-yo. Because a productivity guru on YouTube said "active breaks improve cognitive function by 37%." He had a whiteboard. Charts. A ring light. Seemed credible.

The yo-yo cost £12. It was aluminium. Responsive bearing. I told myself this was an investment in my career.

I was naive.

Day 8.

The yo-yo worked. I could do "Walk the Dog."

My actual dog died that week. Unrelated. Probably.

I bought a second yo-yo to honour his memory. This made sense to no one but me.

Day 23.

Discovered you can do yo-yo tricks during Zoom calls if your camera is off.

Discovered you cannot do yo-yo tricks during Zoom calls if you forget your camera is on.

HR called it "disturbing." I called it "active learning."

We agreed to disagree. They agreed to document it.

Day 47.

Implemented a 47-point morning routine.

Starts at 4 AM. Ends at 11 AM. Includes: meditation, yo-yo practice, journaling about why the routine isn't working yet, and 45 minutes of staring at my inbox without opening it.

My manager asked if I was "okay."

I sent him a 2,000-word PDF called "The Productivity Manifesto: Why Traditional Metrics Are Obsolete."

He forwarded it to HR. They forwarded it to someone with a psychology degree.

⚠ Milestone Reached
"The 90-Day Challenge was complete. I had not transformed. I had, however, developed an unsettling attachment to inanimate objects."
Day 91.

The 90-Day Challenge was complete.

I had not transformed. I had, however, developed an unsettling attachment to inanimate objects.

Started Day 91. Then Day 92. Then Day 183.

Turns out "90 days" is more of a suggestion than a deadline when you're in denial.

Day 134.

Bought my 11th yo-yo.

My therapist asked "why 11?"

I said "consistency."

She said "that's not what consistency means."

I stopped going to therapy. Bought a 12th yo-yo instead. Cheaper. More supportive.

Day 186.

Coworker borrowed my yo-yo.

Never returned it.

I handled it professionally.

I created a detailed PowerPoint presentation titled "The Yo-Yo Incident: A Case Study in Trust Erosion and Organisational Breakdown."

47 slides.

Presented it during our quarterly all-hands meeting.

Slide 12 was just his face with the word "THIEF" in red text.

Slide 23 was a graph tracking "Days Since Yo-Yo Theft" vs. "My Declining Faith in Humanity."

Slide 31 was a proposed "Yo-Yo Return Protocol" with 6 phases and a 90-day implementation timeline.

HR stopped the presentation at slide 34.

I sent them the remaining 13 slides via email. With read receipts.

I also filed a formal grievance. 17 pages. Single-spaced. Footnoted. I cited case law. The case law was about maritime disputes. It was not relevant. I cited it anyway.

The yo-yo was worth £24.

The HR investigation cost the company approximately £12,000 in wasted labour hours.

I consider this a win.

Day 214.

Started working from inside a fort made of Amazon boxes.

Told my manager it was "optimising my spatial environment for deep focus work."

He said "you haven't responded to an email in 6 weeks."

I said "exactly."

Day 267.

Realised I hadn't showered in 9 days.

Bought a premium bamboo desk organiser instead.

Priorities.

Day 303.

My neighbour complained about the smell.

I complained about his face.

We're both filing paperwork.

Day 374.

Became a minimalist.

Threw out everything except: 23 yo-yos, 47 desk organisers, 14 stress balls, 8 fidget cubes, a whiteboard covered in insane flowcharts, and a framed photo of a person I no longer speak to but refuse to throw away out of spite.

This is what minimalism looks like when you're unwell.

Day 412.

HR scheduled a "wellness check."

I responded by sending them a 40-slide PowerPoint presentation titled "Why I'm Thriving: A Data-Driven Analysis."

Slide 6 was just a photo of my yo-yo collection.

Slide 23 was a graph showing my "productivity" increasing whilst my "employment status" plummeted.

They didn't appreciate the irony.

Day 489.

Started referring to my flat as "The Laboratory."

My landlord started referring to it as "a health hazard."

Tomato, tomahto.

⚠ Point of No Return
"I said 'Schrödinger's employment: if I never opened the termination email, am I really fired?' He hung up. I finished the dome. It was beautiful."
Day 523.

Built a geodesic dome out of magnetic balls during a board meeting.

My camera was on.

The CEO asked what I was doing.

I said "optimising."

He said "you're fired."

I said "actually, I'm self-employed now."

He said "you were fired 6 weeks ago."

I said "Schrödinger's employment: if I never opened the termination email, am I really fired?"

He hung up.

I finished the dome. It was beautiful.

Day 631.

Ran out of money.

Sold 3 yo-yos on eBay.

Bought 4 more with the profits.

This is what they call "entrepreneurship."

Day 698.

My mother rang. Asked if I was "doing okay."

I assured her I'd never been better. I'm a consultant now. A thought leader. I'm writing a book.

She asked what the book was about.

I said "yo-yos and systemic optimisation failure."

She asked if I'd eaten recently.

I hung up. Ate a stress ball. Not on purpose. It was dark.

Day 762.

Started Dead End Desk.

Not because I'm qualified. Not because I've "made it."

Because I've spiralled so far past rock bottom that I've discovered new geological layers of failure, and I might as well monetise them.

Day 803.

First sale: one yo-yo.

Customer review: "Why did I buy this?"

Exactly.

Day 847.

Still here.

Still optimising.

Still haven't opened that termination email.

Still own 23 yo-yos.

Still living in a fort.

Still convinced this will all make sense eventually.

The truth?

Dead End Desk exists because I went too far down the productivity optimisation rabbit hole and found out it's actually a bottomless pit filled with yo-yos, denial, and Amazon boxes.

You're probably standing at the edge right now. Day 1. Day 14. Maybe Day 47.

You still think the right desk organiser will save you.

It won't.

But you'll buy it anyway.

And when you do, you might as well buy it from someone who's already living in the pit, sending postcards from the bottom.

Welcome to Dead End Desk.
Day 847. The system is working. I am not.

Legal Disclaimer

This entire story is fictional. None of these events happened. I made it up for entertainment.

I did not:

  • Create a 47-slide PowerPoint presentation titled "The Yo-Yo Incident: A Case Study in Trust Erosion and Organisational Breakdown"
  • Present anything at a quarterly all-hands meeting with a coworker's face labelled "THIEF"
  • File a 17-page formal grievance citing maritime law about a yo-yo
  • Send a 2,000-word PDF called "The Productivity Manifesto" to my manager
  • Create a 40-slide presentation titled "Why I'm Thriving: A Data-Driven Analysis" for HR
  • Live in a fort made of Amazon boxes
  • Work from inside said fort for weeks
  • Build a geodesic dome out of magnetic balls during a board meeting
  • Get fired via termination email that I never opened
  • Stop showering for 9 days and have neighbours complain
  • File paperwork against my neighbour over "his face"
  • Claim "Schrödinger's employment" to a CEO
  • Eat a stress ball (accidentally or otherwise)
  • Target any coworker, colleague, employer, or workplace
  • Engage in any form of harassment, sabotage, revenge, or workplace misconduct

This is satirical comedy about modern workplace culture, productivity obsession, and corporate absurdity. The character is invented. The situations are wildly exaggerated. Any similarity to real people or actual events is purely coincidental.

The products on this website are real and functional. The backstory is complete fiction.

P.S. - No former employers, colleagues, HR departments, CEOs, managers, therapists, landlords, or neighbours were referenced. This is generalised satire about corporate culture and the productivity industrial complex, not personal vendetta.

P.P.S. - If you think this story is about you, it's not. You're not that interesting. This is about the universal experience of workplace dysfunction and the absurd belief that buying more stuff will fix our problems.

P.P.P.S. - The fort isn't real. The 23 yo-yos are exaggerated (I own 7, which is still concerning). The 47-point morning routine never existed. The descent into madness is moderately relatable. The products work great. Buy something.

All products are real. All functionality is guaranteed. The founder's mental state is questionable but legally protected as satire. No coworkers were harmed in the making of this brand.

Search