The Impregnable, Mr Fink

One step into the office, and then I know
I've entered the Twilight Zone.
Keyboards clicking and walk clocks ticking
An eerie monotonous drone.

Everyone has their face to the screen
With spry fingers typing away.
Backs bent over and eyesight failing;
Hair is turning gray.

No time to waste, keep up the pace
And make every message succinct.
Expunge every error, or you'll bear the terror
Of the perfidious, Mr. Fink.

Working for Fink is no easy task,
But the source of emolument.
A raise, you say? Don't even ask;
It's an uncommon and unknown event.

And forget all your hopes and dreams
To maintain a salubrious state.
For you're chained to your desk at every moment
Without even the leeway to take
A stretch, or a bend, or a blink of the eye,
Not even a restroom break.

Mr. Fink has not a care to be amicable;
He's the impregnable,
Mr. Fink.