picture. It was so like Bing to put up a fake picture of a pet. Even at work—hell, especially at work—she knew her friend’s paranoia never rested, and it was typical Bing style to try to mislead any snoopers to a false impression, even about something as unimportant as a pet dog. The squishy little stress ball monster too, she knew, was a misdirection. Bing was not one for stress balls or whimsical toys. To the un-Bing-trained eye, this was the desk of a happy, functioning employee, but Ellie had spent enough time with him to know better. He thought she never paid attention. She thought she never paid attention, but this morning Ellie found herself examining the desk like a puzzle to be solved.
“I don’t want to know your secrets, Bing,” she whispered to herself. “I just want to find your weed.” If it were her work space, she would have intentionally hidden a baggie in the thick binder marked “Laws and Regulations” just to be contrary, but she knew Bing would think of the possibility that someone would at some point borrow that binder. No, his weed and whatever other little secrets he might be keeping were hidden someplace more clever, certainly not in a Tinkerbell lunch box in the file drawer.
She pulled open the center drawer. She knew none of them would be locked. Bing thought locks were for amateursand said they only raised suspicion. The center drawer held the usual office paraphernalia as well as some breath mints and a bottle of eye drops. Bing got the red-eye when he smoked too much. Ellie poked around a bit, knowing she wouldn’t find anything here, but she sort of enjoyed the scavenger hunt. She turned to the set of drawers on the left, and the chair let out a gruesome screech. Some bolt or spring complained at her motion and Ellie had to laugh. It was probably an intentional sabotage Bing had rigged in his seat so he would know if anyone were sneaking into his cubicle. Laughing at her own paranoia, she could imagine him sawing through an I-bolt in such a way that he was the only person in the office who could sit here silently.
Nobody came at the sound of the chair screeching, and Ellie continued her search. She started with the large file drawer on the bottom. The front of the drawer was filled with the usual hanging files with the usual indecipherable labels used for government work. She flipped through the files, knowing nothing would be found in them. At the last file, she pushed the collection forward, opening a gap in the back of the drawer where a stack of books lay. Bing was a huge reader, she knew, and felt more than justified hiding in his cubicle reading on the government’s dime. She pulled out the first three books in the stack: The Illusion of Thought: How Stimulus Dictates Mass Action ; Paranoia for the Aware ; and When Bad Things Happen to Bad People—Great Retributions in History . Guess I’m not going to find a bodice-ripper in here, she thought. She had also still not found the weed.
She put the books back and pulled open the shallow drawer above the file drawer. Rows of a variety of rubber and box stamps filled the space. There were date stamps,classified stamps, rejected and accepted stamps, even a notary public. Who knew? Bing, a notary public. Ellie scanned her fingers over the stamp handles and box tops, reading through their contents, and noticed there were two notary stamps. The one in the front was current; the one in the back of the drawer had expired two years earlier. Both stamps were large plastic box stamps, and both were still in their white boxes with the windows on top. Peeking around to be sure nobody was watching, Ellie pulled out the expired stamp and took it out of the box. The plastic lid, under which an imprint of the stamp had been set, had a tiny crack in the corner. Jackpot.
She grabbed a staple remover and pried off the top of the stamp. The simple mechanism inside fell apart and she had to quickly grab it to keep the rubber stamp at the bottom
“I don’t want to know your secrets, Bing,” she whispered to herself. “I just want to find your weed.” If it were her work space, she would have intentionally hidden a baggie in the thick binder marked “Laws and Regulations” just to be contrary, but she knew Bing would think of the possibility that someone would at some point borrow that binder. No, his weed and whatever other little secrets he might be keeping were hidden someplace more clever, certainly not in a Tinkerbell lunch box in the file drawer.
She pulled open the center drawer. She knew none of them would be locked. Bing thought locks were for amateursand said they only raised suspicion. The center drawer held the usual office paraphernalia as well as some breath mints and a bottle of eye drops. Bing got the red-eye when he smoked too much. Ellie poked around a bit, knowing she wouldn’t find anything here, but she sort of enjoyed the scavenger hunt. She turned to the set of drawers on the left, and the chair let out a gruesome screech. Some bolt or spring complained at her motion and Ellie had to laugh. It was probably an intentional sabotage Bing had rigged in his seat so he would know if anyone were sneaking into his cubicle. Laughing at her own paranoia, she could imagine him sawing through an I-bolt in such a way that he was the only person in the office who could sit here silently.
Nobody came at the sound of the chair screeching, and Ellie continued her search. She started with the large file drawer on the bottom. The front of the drawer was filled with the usual hanging files with the usual indecipherable labels used for government work. She flipped through the files, knowing nothing would be found in them. At the last file, she pushed the collection forward, opening a gap in the back of the drawer where a stack of books lay. Bing was a huge reader, she knew, and felt more than justified hiding in his cubicle reading on the government’s dime. She pulled out the first three books in the stack: The Illusion of Thought: How Stimulus Dictates Mass Action ; Paranoia for the Aware ; and When Bad Things Happen to Bad People—Great Retributions in History . Guess I’m not going to find a bodice-ripper in here, she thought. She had also still not found the weed.
She put the books back and pulled open the shallow drawer above the file drawer. Rows of a variety of rubber and box stamps filled the space. There were date stamps,classified stamps, rejected and accepted stamps, even a notary public. Who knew? Bing, a notary public. Ellie scanned her fingers over the stamp handles and box tops, reading through their contents, and noticed there were two notary stamps. The one in the front was current; the one in the back of the drawer had expired two years earlier. Both stamps were large plastic box stamps, and both were still in their white boxes with the windows on top. Peeking around to be sure nobody was watching, Ellie pulled out the expired stamp and took it out of the box. The plastic lid, under which an imprint of the stamp had been set, had a tiny crack in the corner. Jackpot.
She grabbed a staple remover and pried off the top of the stamp. The simple mechanism inside fell apart and she had to quickly grab it to keep the rubber stamp at the bottom
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