This year, your choice for NBA MVP isn’t a statistically driven, carefully thought out, objectively reasoned decision. It’s a sign of what kind of person you really are, and if you think anything else, you’re lying to yourself and that’s just sad. What can your choice for NBA MVP tell you about yourself? We decided to lay it out for you.
You were cool in high school, and could probably still keep up at a cocktail bar with the people in PR, but you’ve decided that it’s better to hang out with the nerds in IT and live like a king. And live like a king you do. All day you’re hearing, “Bet you’ve got cool weekend plans, huh?” this, and, “Man, you were on fire last night at the bar” that. The nerds love you, there’s no doubt about that. Sometimes you wonder what it would have been like if you still hung with Bill and Dave in HR, but then you quickly hear the guys in IT chanting your name again and come back to reality. This is your life, and you love it. Well, except for that annoying tall guy who keeps making fart jokes.
You just started at the company and don’t have many friends, but people seem to love you because you’re the only guy who is willing to work on a Friday afternoon, allowing everyone else to chill out a little and secretly pour a little who-knows-what into their mugs. You haven’t mastered personal grooming, but your boss, who seems preoccupied with his own job security, never seems to mind. You’re bring in more money for the company than anyone else, and you have a vague sense you’re undervalued, but what you don’t realize is that everyone else around you makes at least two times more than you and laughs about it when you’re not around. One day you will ask about the pay discrepancy, and will get your raise, but they will say the years of underpayment were a result of a collective bargaining agreement that was decided on before you got there. No one seems to understands the agreement anyway.
You’re a hard-worker at the office but an absolute maniac after hours. Actually, you’re a maniac at the office too. Fashion comes naturally to you, but you’re not afraid to walk out of the house with a giant dent in your face if it means getting to work on time. You’re confident in your abilities, and it confuses you why everyone is so obsessed with Steve in sales, who people call your “best friend” just because you both started on the same day and went to orientation together. You love your co-workers like friends, and your friends like brothers, but goddammit do you hate the term “brainstorming session.” You really need a job that allows you to work by yourself. Maybe a freelance writer, you think? It will never happen. This will end badly.
You use dial-up Internet and have loaded 200 cans of tuna into the basement in preparation for the impending apocalypse. You have no friends, just acquaintances you secretly despise who can help you land your next job. The very concept of going to happy hour with your co-workers makes you throw up a little, and you’re really at your happiest while running down a lonely road, into the dark, wondering what happened to the life you were supposed to lead. You were supposed to be a fucking CEO, not a COO, you mutter to yourself. You are 36, but since you work at a media start-up with a bunch of entitled 23-year-olds, you feel like you’re 72, and in a way, you’re not exactly wrong. You love the Gillette Fusion Proglide.
No matter how much money the company throws at you, no matter how big your office is compared to Alex’s, no matter how much your work is called out in meetings as the standard by which everyone should compare their own, you just can’t help but feel like you’re not truly appreciated it. Get over it. Everyone loves you and you’ve already won Employee of the Month like four times, so just let someone else win it for once because it just would honestly mean a lot to Todd, okay? You have a nice bath tub.
You come into work and you get shit done like nobody’s business. Which is confusing, because to be honest, everyone still thinks you’re an intern. Your “goatee” kind of looks like a number of stray hairs that fell on your face, but no one wants to tell you that. But who cares? The bosses love you, and you can basically do whatever you want. Want to try to rejigger the organization of the office? Go for it. Want to buy lunch for the entire team? Use the company card. You're full of the vibrant energy that everyone else left back in college. In a way, your moments of irrational exuberance are all many people in the office have to cling to as a sign that their life is more than just a series of logins and logoffs. That makes you sad.