TEAM LAST CALL

That’s a great question. The answer is quite simple: paperclips. I contol them. Every last one of them. The power can be intoxicating.

You see, among my job duties each month is a task of immeasurable importance, without which the entire business would surely crumble. Some call it data entry; I prefer to call it Computer Input Science.

The workflow in our office is such that, in the process of Computer Input Science, all of the paperclips end up at my desk. Naturally, I hide them where nobody can find them.

Consequently, my coworkers spend the beginning of each work cycle frantically tearing up the office in a desperate search for a way to bind their papers together. Eventually, one of them bursts into my office, a loose paper in each hand, shaking like a junkie with bloodshot eyes and little beads of perspiration on his upper lip.

“Hey Jeff, is there any chance that I could get a paperclip?” he says, clearing his throat nervously and staring down at his shoes.

“Hey who?” I say menacingly, arching my eyebrow and leering at him from the corner of my eye.

“Oh Captain, My Captain, Lord of the Office and Supreme Ruler of Supplies,” he recites, his voice breaking. Dark stains begin to form in the armpits of his dress shirt.

“That’s better,” I say, reaching under my desk and picking up my Siamese cat, which purs demurely as I begin to stroke it with one gloved hand. “What was it you wanted from the Captain?”

“A paperclip, sir. Please. If you can spare one,” he murmurs, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

I lean back in my leather chair to ponder his request. With slow, deliberate motions I lift the lid of my humidor and withdraw a Cuban cigar. Are they illegal? Yes, but you have to understand, once you achieve this level of power, laws become more like suggestions. Returning my steely gaze to my coworker, I insert the cigar into my cutter and deftly lop off the end. He winces and lets out a small whimper.

“No, I don’t think so,” I say, flicking open my diamond-encrusted Zippo lighter and propping my feet up on my solid oak desk. “I don’t think I have any paperclips to spare.”

“Please! I’m begging you!” blurts my coworker, running a sweaty palm through his hair. “Just a few paperclips to get me through my day. You know I’m good for it!”

“Do I? Do I know that?” I say, rising from my chair. “Last month I lent five paperclips to Eric. Five paperclips! And did he ever pay me back? Did he?”

“No,” he mutters.

“No who?”

“No, Captain, My Captain.”

“That’s right, he didn’t!” I bellow. “And do you know what happens when people don’t pay me back? I get upset. And what happens when I get upset? Certain people have unfortunate accidents. I’d hate for you to have an unfortunate accident!”

To drive home the point, I unlock the bottom drawer of my desk, draw out a dark object and toss it at my coworker’s feet. It takes a moment, but he soon recognizes the carnage as the remnants of Eric’s missing stapler. The base has been savagely dented, the black enamel coating has been sadistically scratched off, the staples hang grotesquely like loose teeth. No mercy has been shown to this stapler. My coworker barely makes it to a trash can before forfeiting his breakfast.

“You monster!” he cries between retches.

I throw my head back and release a sinister laugh. “It’s just business, my boy,” I shrug. “Perhaps you and I can come to an agreement.”

“Name your price,” my coworker hisses, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“I’m feeling generous today,” I say, dropping a pinch of food into the tank of tropical fish that rests between the mini bar and the plasma-screen TV. “The paperclips will only cost you 10 percent of your paycheck, plus you have to wear a bra on the outside of your clothes for the rest of the month.”

“Is that it?” the coworker winces.

“What can I say? I’m in a good mood,” I reply.

“Looks like I’ve got an appointment with my wife’s lingerie drawer,” he sighs.

“That’s my boy,” I say, dropping three paperclips into his outstretched palm.

“It’s funny – I never realized how truly gracious you are with your power,” my coworker exclaims. One by one, the rest of the office staffers gather behind him, nodding their heads in agreement.

“Week after week, you carry this entire company on your back without a single complaint!” shouts another coworker.

“Well, yes, it’s not easy,” I say humbly.

“You do more work than 20 of us added together!” offers another.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” I say.

“On behalf of all of us,” says another, “I’d like to apologize for failing to recognize your invaluable contributions to our team. You just can’t be topped when it comes to data entry.”

“It’s called Computer Input Science!” I shriek, swatting the paperclips from their hands and chasing them all from the room.

I guess some of us were just meant to suffer in quiet dignity, secure in the knowledge that, whether our coworkers realize it or not, we are the ones who are really in control. We don’t need praise, we don’t need accolades. We just need the paperclips.