The receptionist has quit and we’re about 15 minutes from the Siege of Leningrad in here.

The entryway is dark and desolate. The doorbell rings, but no one answers. We cannot be sure who seeks entry.

Jorg has offered to see, but he’s too precious to risk. He’s the only one who knows where the key to the supply closet is.

The fridges were the first to empty, with Diet Cokes our new currency.

The coffee machine was ransacked for parts. People are so desperate for caffeine they’re...they’re just eating coffee grounds.

Have you ever seen toner burn? It’s beautiful.

The printer has suddenly sprung to life. I’ve made my way over to it, through the binder checkpoints we had to set up early on.

It’s printing Lorem Ipsum, page after page.

The living envy the dead.

Martha from HR won’t stop crying.

“I have to do an exit interview with the receptionist, but she’s gone. I can’t close her file. I CAN NEVER CLOSE HER FILE.”

We sit with her on the floor in the hallway. It is all we can do.

Down the hall in ITtown, two tech jockeys are fighting over a keyboard. We try to ignore their grunts and pretend we don’t know what the screams are.

The screams are from Sr VPs. They’re betting on this like a cockfight.

“Papers, please”

The checkpoint guard looks at my ID badge. He’s nervously fingering the stapler all too clear in his makeshift holster.

“I’m not so sure BD needs access to the server room.”

I slip him 2 corporate mugs, a pen, and some hard candy. He lets me pass.

The AC is off in the server room, but that’s fine. It’s what we hopped for. After paper got scarce, we were so cold. It’s warm here. Warm enough to heat my Campbell’s Chunky Sirloin Burger(tm) soup.

Warm enough to sleep, for once. To sleep without inhaling keyboard cleaner.

Rested, we take stock. Our band is meager but we have each other. And hope. Very early on, before our lives became this hellscape—around 9:15 am or so—we heard a voice.

“Could we hire a new receptionist?”

Who said it?! The knowledge is lost to time. We press on, to Recruiting.

Sarah has developed a limp. No one wants to say it, but she’s slowing us down.

If we have to leave her, we will. Leave her in a cubicle with a half-charged phone. A rough mercy but it’s all we have.

Laughter echoes down the hall. We’ve reached Recruiting.

The lights are flickering on and off. Jr Recruiters stand at attention, their faces covered with Letters of Intent. Their crimes are unknown to us. So much is unknown.

I’ve found the source of the laughter. The Lead Recruiter is in his office. He’s stripped to the waist, sitting on the floor.

He’s laughing, but it sounds like crying.

Papers form a perfect circle around him, their red and green highlights on white forming a madman’s Xmas tree.

He’s in his own world. I peek down.

The papers are resumes. Receptionist resumes.

I cannot help myself. I’m so sorry. I just can’t.

“Hey, these look promising.”

He turns his face toward me, a rictus and eyes that are just whites.

“Promising? PROMISING? It’s not their qualifications! That’s not the point. She was the only one who knew. These? They don’t know anything about how we do things AND NEITHER DO WE!”

He lunges at me, grabbing my shirt.

“Neither. Do. We.”

He collapses on the floor.

Shaken, I return to my band.

“Did he have anything?”

“No. But we must press on. We must survive.”

We will. We will find a way out of this horror.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the lunchroom.

END