As I stare at the paper, my mind races. I bite my lip in an effort to stifle the urge to scream. It all started eight months ago. I had enough fo my life at the Office. Days stretched endlessly into one another. And then, it began. My office subterfuge.

It started out harmlessly enough. I was bored, as usual, as I prepared to send an interoffice envelope to Suzie Secretary or some other employee. These envelopes are constantly reused. Cross out the last recipient’s name, write in the new recipient, drop it in a basket, and sometime in the next 30 minutes to 8 hours, a mail room clerk will pick it up and delivery it. Then that recipient will cross out their name and re-use the envelope at their leisure.

As I stood there, I saw the blank between Suzie’s name and Annie from Accounting. I quickly wrote in “A. Kournikova” and under floor, “69” with my blue Bic. I took my red Papermate and crossed it out . Suddenly, Ms. Kournikova was just another person in the interoffice mail chain. If only I stopped there.