The Sphinx in the Breakroom

Marla stood by the office pool, holding her plastic cup of lukewarm coffee. The betting pool, that was. Three hundred and fifty dollars in the pot, all riding on when Peterson would finally crack.

Peterson, with his sphinx-like silence and dead eyes, had been the department manager for twelve years. He sat in his glass office like some ancient statue, inscrutable and unmoving. The rumor mill said he'd survived four rounds of layoffs by simply being too boring to fire.

"He ate a spinach salad yesterday," Chloe whispered, appearing beside Marla. "Without washing it first. I saw dirt on the leaves."

Marla nodded, watching Peterson through the glass walls. He was staring at his monitor, motionless. "That's three days in a row. The cleanse."

"The cleanse?"

"My uncle did that before he walked into Lake Michigan." Marla swirled her coffee. "With rocks in his pockets."

Chloe's eyes widened. "You think he's—"

"I think he's been living in that glass box too long." Marla checked her phone. Two weeks until her student loans came due. "I put fifty on Friday."

"That's dark, Marla."

"It's realistic."

They watched as Peterson suddenly stood up. The entire open-plan office went quiet, like goldfish in a tank waiting for food. He walked to the window, pressed his palm against the glass, and stood there, perfectly still.

"Oh my god," Chloe breathed. "Is he—"

Peterson's other hand came up. He was scratching at something on his neck. A piece of spinach, green and vibrant against his pale skin, fell onto his collar.

Then he sat back down and started typing.

The office exhaled. Someone three desks over let out a nervous laugh.

Marla dumped her coffee in the breakroom sink. "Monday," she said. "I'm moving it to Monday."

Chloe looked at her, horrified and relieved. "You're terrible at this."

"I'm realistic." Marla rinsed her cup. "We're all just waiting for something to happen. At least I'm honest about it."