More brief, imagined conversations between myself and people I see every single day at my job but have never once spoken with:

The small, intense 40-something woman with very close-cropped and bleached blonde hair who dresses very conservatively but whom I imagine harbors a secret double-life

ME:
Man, this job is really whipping my ass. You know?

HER:
(not looking up from her sudoku puzzle) mmmph-hmm.

ME:
Seriously, what's the deal — have I been a bad boy or something? Because I feel like this new business pitch I'm working on is taking me over its knee and spanking my bottom red. I guess I deserve it, though, right?

HER:
I don't follow.

ME:
Well, for instance, if you saw someone who needed discipline, I'll bet you wouldn't hesitate to dole it out. Especially if you knew the person secretly wished to be punished. Right?

HER:
That's not really my department. You need to speak with someone in HR.

ME:
OK, I gotcha. HR. (winking) So...got any big plans for the week---

HER:
I'm not into dudes. (resumes thumbing through Accounts Payable Bull Dyke Magazine)

The guy with the mutton chop sideburns who rides a unicorn around the office

ME:
Nice unicorn.

HIM:
(rolling his eyes) Real original, buddy.
(pulls a handful of glitter from a velveteen pouch and blows into his open palm, creating a giant glitter cloud.)

The man who seems to answer every question by saying, 'Cool, cool.'

ME:
What do you think of fire?

HIM:
Real original, buddy.
(pulls a handful of glitter from a velveteen pouch and blows into his open palm, creating a giant glitter cloud.)

ME:
Whoa. That was a weird coincidence! Do you know that guy with the sideburns and unicorn?

HIM:
Cool, cool.

ME:
Touché!

The anonymous stranger with tan loafers who keeps taking the filthiest, smelliest poops in the men's bathroom

(He has just left the stall next to mine, and can be heard—but not seen—washing his hands at the bathroom sink)

ME:
You're washing your hands after that? Shouldn't you be taking a shower or something?

HIM:
You sure do know how to hurt.

(He slides a single white rose beneath my stall)

ME:
Sorry, I...

FADE TO BLACK.