I Bet There's Not One Drawer Here With a Human Head In It. I Hope.

If you're at work right now, look around you. Each day you come in and hang out with this group of people, but what do you really know about them? I mean sure, they look normal and all, but then so do you, and you know what a freak you are.

Each of us takes the time to identify certain classes of coworkers for career reasons. Who is helpful to newcomers? Who is only out for themselves? Who is most likely to snap and come in one day with loaded weapons and start shooting up the place? (Hint: it's always the quiet ones who talk to their shoes.)

What about deeper questions, though? Who among you right this minute is most likely to be wearing underwear meant for the opposite gender? Which of them opens the office fridge when no one is looking and licks the first piece of cheese they find, putting it back so as to not arouse suspicion? Who has the worst smelling bellybutton? You spend most of your waking time with these people. Shouldn't you know this stuff?

Right this minute I'm looking around the room, and frankly, I'm terrified. Outward appearances say it's just a bunch of programmers, but I've seen enough TV to know better than to trust that. How do know that the guy sitting behind me is actually going to go eat and lunch at noon and not rush home to make sure the shackles on the goat he keeps in the bedroom aren't rubbing against its lace teddy, causing it discomfort while he's away working? What about that one over there? He seems okay, but for all I know he spends his free time making sure his Star Trek action figures are arranged in just the way they like to be, and if they're not then they will complain loudly to him. I don't really know anything about these people. Who knows what kind of freaky things their into when they go home at night.

My God, some of them might even watch Fox News.

Of course, all of this is unlikely. They are most likely just as well adjusted as I am, simply marking off eight hours of diligent work, and then going home to take care of their loving families. It seems improbable that, especially within a group as small as mine, I happen to have the coworker who fantasizes about the day when the otters overthrow us all, taking all of our French toast and locking it in giant vaults, to be distributed only to the most deserving of their human servants.

I mean, what are the odds there are two of us?