Mike

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.