We lost one of our co-workers the other day; she went into her cubicle and never returned. But every morning since that fateful day at 10:00 a.m, our official coffee break time, we can smell French Vanilla latte wafting from within the void that once bore her name on the door in a temporary way.
She used to wear tropical print dresses to work every Friday, and on Mondays, she came with her new hairstyle for the week. I used to track the slow demise of her hairstyle, day by day, until finally she came in with scrunchies in her hair. On Mondays and Fridays she was my Temptress, but on Tuesdays through Thursdays, not so much.
We never did find out what happened to her. She went in to do some filing and some have speculated that she must have gotten carried away and filed herself away. Trouble is, we would have searched her files for her, but we can't figure out under what she would file herself.
I used to borrow her stapler all the time. I had one; in fact, I had two. But I hid them in my file cabinet, filed under Ready Made Excuses. I borrowed her stapler as often as I could, but more often on Mondays and Fridays. I'm not sure why.
She never did return to our land of nine to five. Lost somewhere within the sliding drawers of everything that is kept but seldom ever found again. And the custodians do tell a tale among themselves at night, when we day creatures are no longer there. They say that every now and then, when they are dusting off the files, they sometimes hear a ghostly sneeze.