From my Outbox: Gone with the wind

We’ve been moved around again at work, since they are re-building some offices. A vast cloud of glue penetrates the air across the entire second floor, up the elevator shaft, and I can even smell it here @ 3rd floor. Here’s my send-to-all:

The status quo of the library’s oxygen level reached a critical low this afternoon. After I had dealt with the setting up of a new laptop up on the 4th floor and attended the meeting, I was approached by a small goblin in knee-high stockings who said he’d been trapped in the abstract furniture for centuries by an evil spell.

The spell had been broken, he informed, by the intoxicating fumes of glue that penetrated the air.
I sniffed the air. He was right. There was hardly any fresh air left.
That explained the dead sparrows lying around. Everybody knows sparrows die instantly when gassed.

He said he was a Furniturnal Spirit, who loomed around (that’s the words he used), punishing those who never cleaned up their coffee stains, carefully observing the synchronization of open office karma with the soul of the universe. He stated that he all in all was a magical being. And that cleaning up my coffee stains was about friggin time.

I started hearing singing. It began as a low humming, slightly annoying, but grew to a thundrous choir until its true nature struck me; it was Michael Jackson’s "Heal the world". A vision appeared. It was of a group of harmonic beings holding hands and singing the song.. with feeling.

"You must be magical", I said to him, listening.
"No, that’s just the UNDP people."

Then the goblin started to float in the air, defying the gravitational laws.
"You’re defying the gravitational laws," I suggested.
"It’s the glue, man, the glue.."
He dissolved into thin air, pixel by pixel, becoming one with the Snøhetta Zen.

About fifteen minutes later I had moved up to the third floor, where I hope magical goblins will leave us be. At the moment there’s only three of us here. We’ve got plenty of air and no telephones.
– Sigge

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