You type furious shorthand as some guy conveys a lengthy monologue explaining the inflections, ebbs, peaks and plateaus of a jagged line on a chart.  It occurs to you that there must be no God, because if there were, he would never tolerate the products of His creation spending their time in such a way.  When the guy finally shuts up, you stagger back to your cubicle. Ten minutes later your boss calls and orders you into his office.