Masquerade

Mondays masquerading as Tuesdays were among her least favorite things on Earth. The team meeting was particularly pointless today, with faux energy supplied by the foulest coffee ever made by humankind. "It's a wonder more of us don't snap like a dry twig," Janice sighed, and Brandon caught it. "Do you have a comment, Janice?" he asked, pupils dilated from whatever was running around in his head (like squirrels loose in a round room). "More of a question," Janice replied evenly, because office improv was her true calling. "How many of us are real employees, and how many of us are plants from the FDA, FBI, and CIA? I mean ... this is not the time to step forward, of course, but ... one wonders if we're all on different recon timelines." Brandon froze (temporarily stunned and incapacitated by the complexities of the thought) but, out of the corner of her eye, Janice saw George raise his cup to her and grin from ear to ear.