Everyone thinks their workplace is sitcom-worthy, so it’s always a treat to see your industry portrayed on screen.

While newspapers have gotten the Hollywood treatment a decent amount in the last decade — from best-picture winner “Spotlight” and star-studded “The Post” to documentary film “Storm Lake” and short-lived ABC series “Alaska Daily” — the new “Office” spinoff “The Paper” finally takes the format I’ve been waiting for: the mockumentary.

With the daily pursuit of stories providing endless, contained narrative arcs and every real-life editorial staff full of quirky personalities that would require no exaggeration (to say nothing of the people they cover), newsrooms are tailor-made settings for half-hour, character-driven comedies.

Although the new Peacock series doesn’t meet the standard for newspaper parodies set by the 1994 Michael Keaton movie also called “The Paper,” it does comedically reflect some of the harsh realities our industry faces and the stubborn optimism many of us choose to have anyway.

Despite the glaring differences between “The Paper’s” Toledo Truth Teller, propped up by a handful of volunteer reporters and its paper-product parent company, and the nonprofit-owned Portland Press Herald with two dozen staff writers, a look inside both newsrooms reveals some notable similarities, including the presence of stale snacks.

There’s a new top editor who’s shaking things up.

Ned Sampson’s first edict as the Truth Teller’s new editor in chief is to cut the wire services that had helped fill the paper’s pages and instead produce local, staff-written stories (which, without a reporting staff or a budget for one, requires recruiting volunteers from the paper’s other departments).

Among the changes Carolyn Fox made in this, her first year as executive editor of Press Herald parent company Maine Trust for Local News was to forgo nationally syndicated columns in our opinion section in favor of columns, op-eds and letters by Maine residents on local topics.

In terms of experience, however, the two top editors come to their positions with very different backgrounds. While Carolyn is the former managing editor of the Pulitzer-winning Tampa Bay Times, Ned was most recently a toilet paper salesman.

We take building security seriously.

In the first episode of “The Paper,” Ned arrives for his first day of work only to be locked in the copy room by his soon-to-be staff until they can verify that he’s supposed to be there.

At the Press Herald, we’re similarly suspicious of anyone we don’t recognize on our property, though we try to take a more polite approach to letting them know the proper protocol for visitors.

We recognize the importance of high school sports.

Before Ned comes onboard, the front page of the Truth Teller’s print edition solely consisted of those wire stories and high school sports scores, and sports reporter Barry, who seemingly has dementia, is the lone staff writer.

The insinuation — that high school sports is one area of local news that still reliably draws readers — rings true. But at the Press Herald, rather than simply keeping our sports desk alive, that’s led to investment in coverage by our award-winning staff.

There’s a loose and widely interpreted dress code.

Maybe this is true of all modern offices, but a more subtle aspect of the show that I appreciated is the range in formality of the staff’s attire, from the men in tucked-in button-downs, some with jacket and ties, to Nicole’s on-trend business casual outfits, Adam’s constant coat-wearing and Adelola’s loud, informal look.

I won’t say which of my colleagues each brings to mind, but Mare’s frizzy hair and frumpy sweaters made me feel seen.

We get trolled — and laugh about it.

After a long day, Mare and Ned share some of the insults that have been slung at them in emails, voicemails and online comments: “goat eyes” for him, “poisonous dog” for her.

“How great is that?” she says, laughing.

Sadly, my trolls aren’t so creative, but they also tend not to spell so well, making it easy to get a chuckle out of being called an “iddiot.”

We’re desperate for snacks.

Things can escalate quickly in a newsroom, where you suddenly might find yourself pursuing breaking news with barely any time to shovel down the sandwich you didn’t pack. Enter: whatever’s around.

Most food that appears in the office, whether left over from a lunch meeting or brought in by a generous coworker, gets gobbled up pretty quickly, but much like the years-old popcorn bucket that Ned delves into, there’s often some strange candy or snack food, usually unpalatable to whoever bought it, that sits around untouched until hunger pangs leave someone no other choice.

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