Like most offices, mine has a junk desk where everyone dumps random supplies, knickknacks, old DVDs, paperbacks, etc., for whomever wants them. I’ve been making good use of it since I was hired. Nothing unusual about it. Or so I thought.

Artist’s rendering of my desk. Number of these items I’ve actually purchased: 0.

Last night when I got to work the desk had been emptied, and there was a banner on the cubicle wall that said “Good luck, Mike! We’ll miss you!” Apparently my office does not, in fact, have a junk desk. Turns out I’ve been stealing from whoever Mike is for a little over a year and a half.

This could be Mike, for all I know.

The worst part is that the majority of the stuff I took decorates my desk in plain view of the whole office, as if to proudly and defiantly say “Fuck you, Mike. It’s mine now.” And now that I know Mike was here, he’s gone. I have no way to give him his stuff back. So guess what? Fuck you, Mike. It’s mine now.

But still, I’m sorry, Mike. I honestly didn’t know you existed.

When am I?

Right now Transformers and Star Wars are the hottest toys on the planet. The Hobbit and G.I. Joe are coming to theatres, and that new Thundercats cartoon is a hit. The Rolling Stones and Mötley Crüe are in the studio working on new albums, and all the kids in middle school are singing Journey songs. Did I fall through a time tunnel? What fucking year is this??