Buddy service

Hi, welcome.  Wipe your feet, sit down.  That's your chair over there, the one with your name on it.  Yes, we know your name.  We've known your name for a long time, we've been expecting you too.  Me?  Oh, you can call me Buddy.  I'm your spiritual advisor in this corporate climate, your life-coach for the long-run, your buddy for the time you spend holding your breath underwater... that might be taking the metaphor a little too far.  Maybe.
Today I want you to think about the people around you.  Can you do that?  Can you picture them in your mind's eye?  Think about the office you work in, think about the people closest to you.  Think of the woman who's a little too old for the clothes she wears, who catches your eye and titillates you with a mixture and of desire and disgust.  Think about the guy two desks over with the sinus problem that means he's always sniffing.  And I mean always.  Think about the receptionist who's clearly only been hired because of how she looks.  The other one, the guy?  Yeah, he was hired for how he looks too.  You can see that now you think about it, can't you?  Think about them all.
Scream if you like.  Let it out.
They're filler.  They're life's extras, they're the walk-on players and the bit parts.  They've never had coaching, they've never been given any lines to learn, or any time in the limelight.  When the spotlight transfixes them, they freeze.  They don't know that the only reason the audience is watching them is because it's time to leave.  Messily, usually.  Remember the guy from accounts who drank so much whiskey his liver burst in the toilets on a Thursday afternoon?
Bit player.
Hack.
Not like you.  You're here to hear what the director has to say, you have a role to play in this life, you're getting your name in the credits.  You're already a success, you just don't know it yet.  And the first piece of advice from the director?  Stop picking your nose when you're on the toilet at work.  It's not a good use of your time and it makes your hands dirty.  Did you notice that I didn't shake hands with you when you came in?  Now you know why.
There are hundred and thousands of people who are just filler, who don't realise that their mundane lives are dull and boring because they're not part of the plot.  When you overhear them on the bus and their conversations are so proletarian and dull, that's because you're listening too hard to them saying "Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb," over and over again and you're mistaking it for thought.  There's no thought, their mouths are just running away, turned on but without the engine turning over.
But they're still waiting and watching, some of them intend to steal your part if you're not looking after it properly.  You can tell; the moment they become interesting they become a threat.  Act decisively and fast whenever you spot someone becoming interesting.  Cut them down, cut them out, cut them up.  Figuratively, not literally.  We know about the knives, ok?  Put them back in their place.  They're filler, it's only what they deserve.
Who?  Well, you know that guy on reception?  Yeah, the good-looking one I was talking about earlier.  Well, he's just started sleeping with the woman who dresses ten years younger than she is.  That's already interesting, isn't it?  And you know what?  If you asked him, he'd do you too.  He's on his way up, he's becoming noticeable.  He's becoming a player.
What should you do?  Sleep with him, of course.  You need to become more interesting to compete and to be blunt, nuns have a better time of it than you do.  So sleep with him, find out something better about yourself.  And read the script; someone's got to die in six pages time.