The porter not only did not rise from his seat when he passed, but never even glanced at him, any more than if a fly had flown through the reception-room.

His superiors treated him in coolly despotic fashion.

Some sub-chief would thrust a paper under his nose without so much as saying, "Copy," or "Here's a nice interesting affair," or anything else agreeable, as is customary amongst well-bred officials.
And he took it, looking only at the paper and not observing who handed it to him, or whether he had the right to do so; simply took it, and set about copying it.
The young officials laughed at and made fun of him, so far as their official wit permitted; told in his presence various stories concocted about him, and about his landlady, an old woman of seventy; declared that she beat him; asked when the wedding was to be; and strewed bits of paper over his head, calling them snow.

But Akakiy Akakievitch answered not a word, any more than if there had been no one there besides himself.

It even had no effect upon his work: amid all these annoyances he never made a single mistake in a letter.