Dire.

There’s a situation at work. A very dire and desperate situation.

The whole lot of us are highly addicted to coffee. Caffeine junkies, every last one of us. During the morning, we all hover around the kettle trying to inhale the flavour, trying to wake up. Anybody who brings coffee to your desk is hailed as a saint.

St Jacqui. Humble Coffee Maker.

During the afternoon, however, we all try to attack the kitchen by stealth lest someone spies the covert coffee making attempts and requests one too. Nothing worse than having to deal out 5 other mugs when your own is scorching your hand, leaving a trail of burning liquid running down your wrists…

Of course, if we donít get our ritual coffee things start to get, shall we say, dangerous. Things tend to get thrown around, sometimes broken. Words are exchanged like daggers and the phone sounds like the screeching laughter of the devil. We are not above resorting to name-calling and school-yard abuse.

Carl is a poo head.
Shut up shitface.
Bite me, you muppet.
This client can Kiss. My. Arse.

As I said, the situation is dire. I’m a little worried… no. Quite frankly, I’m terrified as to what type of hell this office is about to become.

The coffee tin is empty.

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