Just exactly why is my job so bad?

As my colleague lamented this morning, our jobs could be completely replaced by an automated e-mail response that says "learn to Google you dummy!" It's what we wish we could say to people. But sadly, the customer is always right and therefore we must waste spend time carefully crafting responses to people who are either too lazy or too incompetent to use a search engine. It wouldn't be so bad if I actually had power, or felt like I was helping someone. At least in Julie & Julia Amy Adams was helping the families of 9/11 victims. I can make no such claim and I have no power--at all. It's one of those stupid, make-work jobs that only exist in over-developed countries with too much money and an odd idea of customer service. It's turning me into a subversive sabatoeur. The worst part is that we're supposed to make problems go away without actually solving them or apologizing--heaven forbid someone should admit responsibility, or guilt!

My only joy is dreaming about the day when I get to walk out in a year when my husband's job transfers him somewhere else. I have a ticker in excel that counts  down the seconds I have left. I've moved on from staplers to three-hole punches. Every single one in the office is now in my book-shelf. When someone needs one, they'll come looking, but it's been days and so far, no one has asked, "where's the 3 hole punch?" I also find ways to apologize. Today, I even wrote "I'm so sorry" in an e-mail. I may get fired for it, but I'm sick of saying "we regret that you are having trouble with. . ."

Oh, and I forgot to mention that my boss is the devil, AND does not wear Prada. The Vogue clothes closet would make this job a lot more bearable. Sadly, the only swag I ever got is a Chinese Opera mask pencil holder. I could write an opera about how bad my job is. My only question is would it be a comedy, or a tragedy?