An anonymous young man would "like to make a complaint!"

Hello dear reader.

A friend of mine posted the following to his Facebook wall and I thought it was really good. While the last line (and part of the title of this post) reminded me of the 'Parrot Sketch' from Monty Python, I am I guessing that many of us have felt like this anonymous young man:

One sticks his finger into the ground in order to judge where one is. I stick my finger in existence - it feels like nothing. Where am I? What is the world? What does this world mean? Who has duped me into the whole thing, and now leaves me standing there? Who am I? How did I come into this world; why was I not asked, why was I not informed of the rules and regulations, but thrust into the ranks as if I had been forced by a soul-seller? How did I come to be involved in this great enterprise of actuality? Why should I be involved in it? Am I not free to decide? Where is the manager, I'd like to make a complaint!"
-Anonymous young man's letter in Kierkegaard's "Repetition'