Sink Banter: Bull shit or Necessary Evil?

I come in each morning after a 2 hour journey and the first thing on my mind is coffee. I'm parched and knackered and it's only 7:45am. I get to the kettle and it's a stealth mission yet all I need is a little caffeine to restore lucidity before the annoying customers start harassing me. I have to time it just right so that I do not have the fake smiles (those annoying ones that females do that don't quite reach their eyes . . .THAT shit makes me want to slap a bitch) and ''shanter'' (shitty banter) to contend with. The dancing around the microwave / fridge, people peering over your shoulder, enquiring ''what are you eating?''. I try not to answer because it sparks a whole conversation about a time when they ate the same thing you happen to be eating, even though you've heard the story a million bastard times before. I just think to myself, spare me the fucking bullshit, you're in the Sales Department and I'm in Customer Services - the Office equivalent of a leper / peasant. Must I continuously play this game out of politeness, or can I just make my excuses and leave? The polite laughing, the smiling and nodding, like eurgh . . .spare me! Any other time, these people ignore the fuck out of me (and the rest of my department), especially when the CEO is in because for some reason the egotistical public school boy pu**yhole has a vendetta against his Customer Services Team (he is notorious for booking off annual leave on the day someone he doesn't like is leaving but making a big song and dance when someone he does happen to look in the back of the head is leaving). The conversations held at this disgusting sink are beyond pitiful and I try not to get involved. They sap my energy and are a constant reminder of the divides within the office which no one seems to want to really address. Heating up my lunch is usually done in advanced (12:50pm for five minutes and then removed at 12:55pm and put on the side until 1:00 pm for optimum cooling), so I can then take my Tupperware and then fuck off to the local green and sit with the London lower echelons and the great unwashed as they swig their White Lightening, offer unwilling participants (in the form of members of the local office worker) on their lunch break a look at their Crack Head gallery of age old denim framed batty crease as they shout at their depressed Staffordshire Bull Terriers / peers. I secretly envy these so-called less fortunate people. Their existence is solely focussed on oblivion therefore having to pay rent, economic stability and even giving a shit is not specifically in their remit. Seriously dude, I need to get the hell out of here before the truth REALLY gets out.