Drink your juice.

Live from my afternoon.

I have decided that the Magic Mouse I use on my office computer is a piece of crap and that I’d like a good mouse. I don’t know who to e-mail about this, but I know where all of the tech support dudes’ office is because that’s where I got my phone, so I wander up there to try and sort things out.

I forget that the office is in a secret, behind-this-set-of-electronic-double-doors kind of hallway with four big industrial elevators, but I see a dude holding a sandwich walk down the hall, so I follow him.

He walks through an unmarked door that has an electronic pad to verifiy your employee ID before unlocking to let you through. The door closes behind him. I have forgotten my ID at my desk, and so I turn around to go and get it.

Not so fast, Christine. The electronic double doors to the hallway require ID to get back out to the office area, because apparently they’re worried about people sneaking in via the industrial elevators.

I am trapped in this hallway.

The industrial elevators only have one button and it is unmarked but probably goes to “basement” or “lava dungeon” or “waste chamber”, so I rule that option out.

I pull at the electronic double door. No dice. I hear a woman getting a salad from the vending machine on the other side and knock for her. She ignores me.

I am going to die in this hallway.

I go back to the unmarked office that the dude with the sandwich disappeared into.

I knock.

I hear someone get out of a swivel chair.

It’s the man, and he’s cleaning his hands on his napkin as he opens the door to greet me. I am interrupting his lunch.

Me: Hi. I want to find— [a long pause]. I’m trying to get a new mouse. And I think this is where I should go. Do you know who I could talk to?

Him [smiling at me like I am a very stupid puppy]: A mouse?

Me: Yeah.

[He disappears into the room, leaving me holding the heavy door open. The room is full, floor to ceiling, with cardboard boxes overflowing with technology stacked on metal shelves. It’s like an episode of Hoarders but for someone who only collects lightly-used USB wires he gets for a reasonable price on eBay.]

Me [into the abyss]: I don’t know if there’s someone I could e-mail… or—

[He reappears holding the clunky, big-wheeled mouse of my dreams.]

Him: What’s your name?

Me: Friar.

Him: Friar?

Me: Friar.

Him: Just Friar? No other—

Me: Oh, Christine Friar.

Him: I just need it for the paperwork.

Me: Okay. Thank you!

At this point I retreat down the hallway, triumphant with my mouse (so easily-attained!), and hear his office door close behind me as he returns to his sandwich.

I reach the double doors and remember that I am four and I am trapped.

I walk back to the unmarked office and knock a slow, guilty knock.

He sighs, and I hear him rise from his swivel chair again. I hope that sandwich was not a warm one.

Me: Hi again. Sorry, I uh, don’t have my ID. It’s downstairs. So I’m trapped.

Him: [silence]

Me: Would you mind letting me out? Really quickly?

Him: Yeah, no problem.

We walk down the hallway and he scans his ID and the door unlocks and I thank him again.

As I click-click-click across the tiled floor toward the stairwell I hear:

Him: Take care, Friar.

I know, sir.

I know.