"Oh Geeze." you exclaim as your hand tips the liquid Columbian goodness onto the 'Nimbus Three Thousand Mach Five from Daystrom Industries'...or whatever it used to be called. Right now the proper name would be 'smoking, sparking, sizzling, future dumpster chum'. A small mushroom cloud had formed over it.
You stand and brush past Jerry as he screams, "Noooooo!" and look down at the flaming keypad. It displays something as it flickers out of existence. It might have been 'Tell the ES600 that I love her...', but you couldn't swear to it.
You watch Jerry as he tries to put out the flames with his hands, and say, "Just bring me a regular one...OK? I have a meeting...I gotta go."
You wander down the hall with papers in your hands. You always want to have papers in your hands. Wandering the halls with papers in your hands helps not only to avoid unwanted conversation, 'Sorry, I have to deliver this to the big-boys right away!', but also deflects questions from your immediate supervisors, 'Sorry, I have to deliver this to the big boys right away!'
Stopping by the copier, you decide to copy one of the papers that you're carrying 100 times. This will give you enough time to stare at the new hottie in payables.
You look at your watch. It's 9:15, and that can only mean one thing. Time to ride the elevator for a half hour.
You stroll to the elevator, all 100 copies of a memo from August of '06 in hand. You press the up AND down button. Karma is a wonderful thing. It will decide the destination.