It was not difficult to find Mrs. Templeton's desk, nor Mrs. Templeton. She was a large woman in a desk raised above all other surrounding desks. Her office space towered like castle walls in the middle of the peasant worker cubicles.

"Excuse me? Mrs. Templeton?" I said, shadowed by the faux wood paneling of her massive desk.

"What do you want?" she bellowed. Her voice fee, fi, fo, and fumbed from above, and the blood of this American ran cold.

"I need a couple of pens f--" I said before she interrupted me.

"You need to speak to your admin. What department are you in?" She bellowed.

"Applications, upstairs, but--"

"Then you need to speak to Chloe. She can get you the supplies you need!"

"I know Chloe, but, I need--"

"I need. I need. Everybody needs something. Everybody asks me to get it for them."

"Mr. Silverman sent me on--"

"Mr. Silverman? Did you say Mr. Silverman?" she said. The volume of her voice decreased considerably. She changed from a bellowing behemoth to a polite granny of a woman.

"Just a moment," she said, and climbed down from her throne.

She appeared around the corner of her desk. She was much shorter standing on the floor than she was towering over cubeland.

"Why didn't you say it was for Mr. Silverman?" she said. "Follow me."

Mrs. Templeton dashed away like an Olympic sprinter. I had to run to keep up with her. Cubes flashed by in a blur. I thought I heard someone say, "No running in the halls," but the voice was swept away in the Doppler effect of our running.

Finally, Mrs. Templeton came to a stop. She stopped so suddenly, I nearly knocked her over when I caught up. I was completely out of breath, and thought how I need to get more exercise. Mrs. Templeton, on the other hand, breathed normally.

She unlocked the door, swung open the supply closet, and flicked the light on. It wasn't just a supply closet, it was a supply warehouse. Rows and rows of supplies disappeared into the distance both lengthwise and depthwise.

"Now, what can I get for you and Mr. Silverman?" she asked, pleasant as can be.

I was still panting heavily, trying to catch my breath.

"Come on, come on. I don't have all day," her pleasantness waned.

I gulped some air and said, "I need a couple of colored, ball-point pens."

"What colors?"

"How about green and purple?"

"Right. Stay here. Be right back. And, don't take anything!" she said.

Again, like a roly-poly cheetah, she sped into the warehouse for the pens. In seconds, she returned with one green and one purple ball-point pens.

"Could I also have one of those coffee cups? The ones with the company logo?" I asked pointing to a nearby shelf.

"I don't see why not. We've got cases of them. Can't get rid of the things even by stocking the break rooms."

She turned around, took one of the blue mugs from the shelf, put the pens in the cup, and handed it all to me.

"Anything else?" she asked.

I glanced at my list, and shook my head.

Before I could tell her "Thanks," she locked the door and sped away.

The EULA and the pens were marked off my list. I began to feel more confident. Maybe the tasks wouldn't be too bad. I survived giant bobbleheads. The piranha people at the food table troubled me.

I stopped by my desk, checked my messages, and took a small break. Running after Mrs. Templeton wore me out.

I walked back to my desk, or what I assumed was my desk. It looked like my desk, except every document on my desk and computer monitor were reversed.

The red light of the voice mail blinked. I miss dialed my voice mail account and password, because the numbers on the phone were backwards also. The top row counted "3-2-1", in mirrored numerals.

After three attempts, I successfully got my messages. My wife called to tell me "Hi" and ask me what was for dinner. I called her back and gave her a brief update of my day. I was relieved my wife sounded normal over the phone. I thought, maybe I was in a parallel universe only within the office.

She was excited when I told her I found the CVO and he agreed to help me. The bizarre details of collecting the counter-curse items could be saved for dinner conversation. I was about to derail the subject and ask about her morning when something in the trash can caught my eye.

"Sorry to cut this short, cutie. But, can I let you go? I just thought of something I need to do," I said.

She said, "Sure. Call me before you head home."

"'Kay. Love you," I told her and hung up the phone.

In the trash can was a wrapper of vending machine donuts. The wrapper gave me an idea.

I searched for some spare change and headed to the break room. With the $1.35 I found in my desk, I bought a packet of powdered donuts from the vending machine. Wouldn't you know it, the donuts tilted forward against the Plexiglas and were stuck. I tried to shake the bulky machine, but it refused to move and kept my donuts hostage.

I stuck another 60 cents into the machine and bought the next pack of donuts in the queue. Both packets thumped to the base of the vending machine.

I walked back to my desk and tossed one packet of donuts in the drawer. The other packet I took to the nearest food table. I opened the packet of donuts, set them on the table, and called, "Who wants donuts?"

That was a mistake. In seconds, the piranha people were back. Before I could call dibs on one of my own six powdered donuts, they were gone. Shreds of clear plastic fluttered down onto the food table.

I returned to my desk, grabbed the second bag of donuts, and tried it again. This time, before I advertised the donuts, I hid one under the coffee cup Mrs. Templeton gave me earlier. The donut fit perfectly under the overturned coffee cup. In another few seconds, the five donuts remaining in the packet were consumed by the ravenous employees.

I waited until the last piranha person was out of sight. I flipped the cup over with the donut inside and carried it back to my desk. I wrapped the donut in a piece of scrap paper and tucked it into my pocket with the colored pens.

I crossed the donut item off my list. Three items down, two to go.