Nigel looked up from the stack of forms and dabbed his starched, razor-edged handkerchief across his brow. The heat in the tiny office was intense and he was fighting off the mind-numbing doziness with mug after chipped mug of strong, black coffee. His productivity was suffering, he was sure. He'd been working on the pile of paperwork since before nine, showing initiative and willing by arriving early, but the teetering tower had barely got any lower over the course of the morning. He smiled to himself, remembering that day fifteen years, seven months, twenty-two days and five hours ago, when he'd got the pile into single figures. That had been a good day. He grabbed the top sheet and smashed the rubber stamp down on it twice. Another termination request approved.
He put down the rubber stamp on the pad of red ink and pulled out his copy of the office supply request form he'd submitted. The flimsy sheet of carbon paper was bright pink, as befitted a request for a "Desk Fan, Chrome, Three-Speed (150, 300 and 450 RPM), Fixed Or Rotation By User Selection, For Use On Office Desk", but he had had a disquieting thought for the past three weeks that he'd missed out the last letter from the "Serial Code Number (Black Ink Only Please)" space. That would mean that he'd requested a fan with a top speed of 500 RPM. There would be delays.
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