text: [Themes: Horror, Science Fiction, Satire, strong profanity, satire, office]
  
  > examine the paperwork
  A thick sheaf of workpapers with relevant carbon copies attached. All that fine print, all those tiny little scribbled blanks and check-boxes -- your eyes water just looking at it. Fortunately, you don't have to read it. All you have to do is stamp it.
  
  > look at the desk
  This cheap chunk of fake wood and Formica is your desk. Key word: it is YOURS. Any son of a bitch tries to move it, or go poking around in the little drawer on the side, they are meat.
  
  > look at the phone
  Oh yeah, the phone. You can't make outgoing calls on it; there's no dial. You don't even know why it's on your desk. Presumably, you're expected to answer it if it rings, but it never does. Never has. Not once. Not ever.
  
  > open the drawer
  You open the drawer, revealing an ink stamp, a little gray bottle and a little white bottle.
  
  > take the stamp
  Taken.
  
  > examine the bottles
  Which do you mean, the little gray bottle or the little white bottle?
  
  > Both
  Sorry, you can only have one item here. Which exactly?
  
  > Gray
  The bottles are where you keep your pills. Your pills are extremely important; sometimes, they're the only way you can stay frosty around here. One bottle contains your headache pills, the other your sleeping pills. Unfortunately, you've spent so much time gripping and squeezing and twisting the child-proof caps that the labels have long since rubbed away, and now you can never remember which is which.
  
  > look at the dollar
  Lousy crumpled dollar bill...
  
  > Stamp paperwork
  (with the ink stamp)
  You take a deep breath, raise the ink stamp high over your head, and slam it down as hard as you can.
  
  Right in the middle, every damn time. It's thrilling, on a sort of visceral, primitive level.
  
  [You have just become a little bit less steamed.]
  
  > Stamp paperwork
  (with the ink stamp)
  You've stamped it once already. Give it a rest.
  
  > put the paperwork in the tray
  Which do you mean, the in-tray or the out-tray?
  
  > put the paperwork ithe out-tray
  (first taking the paperwork)
  Seconds after you drop it in, Benson scoots by your desk and whisks it away.
  
  The work is gone from your desk. It's out of your hands. A deep sense of satisfaction and contentment fills your soul, and you smile. If you had a chair, you would lean back in it happily, smug with the knowledge that you've done a good job, and you are now utterly at peace with yourself.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more frosty.]
  
  > look
  This is your own tidy little corner, your home away from home in the happy little community you like to call your office. All the security and companionship you could ever want is right here and always will be.
  
  On the desk are an in-tray (which is empty), an out-tray (which is empty) and a telephone.
  
  > Wait
  Time passes.
  
  > go to the east
  Why leave? You've never been happier than when you're right here, where you belong.
  
  Furman zooms past suddenly, and tosses more paperwork into your in-tray. Your little bubble of happiness pops instantly and the gall comes rushing back.
  
  The fucking nerve! As if you didn't have enough to do already! Those sons of bitches never let up, they never give you a moment's peace. Never a chance to catch up or take a breath or get even halfway frosty. One of these days, you'll make them all pay...
  
  [You have just become a little bit more steamed.]
  
  > look athe in-tray
  That's where they put work for you to do. They never seem to get tired of it. There's work in there right now, as a matter of fact. Lousy sons of bitches!
  
  > take the work
  As you take the papers, a memo slips out between two pages and lands on your desk face-down.
  
  > examine the memo
  (first taking the memo)
  First thing you notice, turning the memo over: it's not on official firm stationery. You allow yourself a grim chuckle. Some poor slob's going to get it in the ass for that little slip-up, and for once it won't be you.
  
  Then you read it.
  
  All it says is: "How about a snack?"
  
  Some kind of joke? Nervously, you glance around, but neither Furman nor Benson are anywhere in sight.
  
  Not that it matters. Obviously, some son of a bitch is trying to mess with you. Either Furman or Benson, or maybe both. Or maybe that bastard Biedermeyer. Whatever. One way or the other, that son of a bitch is going to be sorry. That son of a bitch is going to find out just how frosty you can be.
  
  [You have just become a little bit more steamed.]
  
  > go to the east
  As usual, Benson's corner of the office, is a filthy sty. Files, papers, supplies lying around everywhere. You don't know how anyone could work in these conditions. A vast bank of filing cabinets stands against the west wall, behind Benson's desk.
  
  On the desk are some scattered papers.
  
  That lazy son of a bitch Benson is perched on his precious stool, leaning back against the files with his feet up on the desk like always.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You are carrying a memo, some paperwork, a little white bottle (which is closed), a little gray bottle (which is closed), an ink stamp and a crumpled dollar bill.
  
  > Stamp paperwork
  (with the ink stamp)
  You take a deep breath, raise the ink stamp high over your head, and slam it down as hard as you can.
  
  Right in the middle, every damn time. It's thrilling, on a sort of visceral, primitive level.
  
  > examine the memo
  All it says is: "How about a snack?"
  
  > ask Benson about memo
  Benson shrugs. "It didn't come from my desk."
  
  > look at Benson
  Benson is a lazy, ineffectual slob and everyone in the office knows it. He's in charge of Records, which puts him slightly below you on the totem pole, but it also entitles him to the use of the only stool in the office -- and he hogs that thing for all it's worth. He never actually uses it to get files. Just parks his pudgy ass on it and munches nougat bars all day.
  
  Like your other co-worker Furman, Benson is short and slightly pudgy, and wears thick, black-rimmed glasses.
  
  Benson shifts around on his stool, trying to get more comfortable.
  
  > ask Benson about the nougat
  "Man, I LOVE those nougat bars!" cries Benson happily. "I could eat those things all day long!"
  
  > take the glasses
  "Hey," says Benson, jerking his head away. "Keep your hands to yourself, will you?"
  
  > ask Benson about the stool
  "That's right," Benson says proudly, giving the side of the stool an affectionate slap. "She's all mine."
  
  > Kick stool
  You give the stool a good, hard thump. You thump it again, a bit harder this time. Next thing you know, you're pounding on the stool again and again for all you're worth -- you stop yourself, feeling a bit light-headed. Damn. You hate it when that happens.
  
  > examine the desk
  It's an ordinary-looking desk. A bit smaller then yours, but everybody knows Benson's a lazy imbecile.
  
  > kick benson
  Oh, don't think you wouldn't love to pound Benson's face right through the back of his pointy little head. You never would, though, not with that bastard Biedermeyer watching your every move. Bide your time, though. Stay frosty. His day will come.
  
  > ask Benson about the snack machine
  "Generous of management, isn't it, to provide us working stiffs with that piece of junk, eh?" Benson smirks. "Still, he says, "I sure like those nougat bars!"