5.01.2025

The office worker who looks like an actor known for playing spies sneezes into the sleeve of his cardigan. He's been sick since the solar eclipse. He knows he shouldn't keep his glasses on when looking directly at the sun. There's something rebellious about ignoring safety advice. He comes across as collected and organized. Reserved, even. What we don't know is that he gets private little thrills from detaching his seatbelt on airplanes, riding his bicycle without a helmet, ignoring the sell-by date on dairy products. Once when he went to do his laundry he used someone else's detergent when they weren't looking. He's the reason you can't find your remote control. You'd never suspect him and he likes it that way. Graffiti follows him wherever he goes but you'd swear he had his hands in his sweater pockets the whole time. Just now he has decided he will stuff his used face tissues in a drawer under the desk where the paperclips are kept. No one needs paperclips anymore, and the next time they do they'll discover a papery cloud with waxy hard parts and it will be their problem to deal with. They will blame each other. Recriminations will ensue and in the office space it will be like poison gas hangs in the air. The manager will not want to spring for cameras so a few bitchy notes will be posted on the drawer in question but by then he will have moved onto bolder, more insidious pranks and the cycle will not end until he is the last office worker on the job and he will have the place to himself. It could take years but he's committed to it. Only those with patience win the long game, he says to himself, and blows his nose on an expense report.