Some are born into office jobs, some achieve office jobs, and some have office jobs thrust upon them.
The Faceless Bureaucrats, thanks to a genetic quirk, possess no facial features, a blank expanse of flesh connecting either ear. They have no eyes, nose, or mouth to speak of. Or with. The Faceless Bureaucrats are mute. And blind. And, accordingly, actually a bit crap at bureaucracy; bereft of eyes and a mouth, they can’t see the red tape, or ask for clarification. They just sit in the corner of the office, almost wearing a suit – in their defence, it’s quite hard to get dressed if you have no idea what a suit is supposed to look like – and haphazardly stamp forms. On some days, there wouldn’t be any forms placed on their desk, or the faceless might accidentally knock the papers onto the floor. Unaware that there weren’t any papers in front of them, the faceless would continue stamping, covering the table with a patina of red. Reassuring the rest of the office that, just in case there was any doubt, the table had been received.