The Final Spreadsheet
Language: en
"When is she going to quit?" The voice from the breakroom wasn't loud, but every word was crystal clear. I stood at the doorway, cup in hand, motionless. "Should be soon. It's been three months." "I bet she's gone by the end of this week. A round of hot pot on it." "You're on." I turned and walked back to my desk. My desk was next to the restrooms, a place with a permanent, 24/7 odor. I sat down, opened my laptop, and continued working on my spreadsheet. No one knew what I had been documenting for the past three months. And no one knew just how long the list I was going to read at the…