The Note

Josh dashed through the empty lobby, past the coffee kiosk where he snatched a newspaper from the pile as he stormed by, and pushed his briefcase between the closing elevator doors. When they bounced back open he collapsed into the car, gasping for a moment, then pushed the button for 27. When the doors slid open he tip-toed across the tiled lobby.

“I’ll try the stealth approach today,” he thought.

As he approached his cubicle he could see that he was already too late. The large neon green post-it note with “WHY DID YOU DO IT?” printed in block letters by a red Sharpie was centered in the screen of his computer. Dejected he put down his briefcase, tore off the note, wadded it up and tossed it into the recycle bin. He took off his suit coat, hung it over the back of his chair and sat down, his face in his hands.

When the first note arrived, he’d panicked. How had he been discovered? Had some change in his actions or attitude given him away? Had someone bugged his phone or eavesdropped on his email? He had taken every precaution - he was sure of it. Perhaps an office prank that was just ironic coincidence? His brain was in turmoil.

He took to sleuthing quietly; the office supply cabinet did not carry that size or color of post-its, and no red sharpies. He went in an ever widening circle from cubicle to cubicle looking for any hint of neon green or a sharpie wielding co-worker. He tried staying later and later to see if anyone approached his cubicle after hours before they realized he was still there and backed away. Once he even fell asleep at his desk and woke up when the cleaners vacuumed. There was no note, so he dragged himself home.

The next night he made a big show of leaving - saying “Have a good night” a little too loudly and making a scene as he supposedly departed. He hid in a stall in the men’s room until he was sure the office had emptied before he sneaked back in. He lurked in the cubicle across the aisle, sitting on the floor for hours watching for the note poster. This time he dodged the cleaners, determined to catch someone in the act. He left at dawn to shower and change. The note was there when he returned.

Over time, he started to lose weight and his eyes became permanently blood shot. Several co-workers eyed him sympathetically, but he waved away their concerns with a lame excuse about a sick cat. He didn’t even own a cat, but they pretended to understand.

What did the note poster want? There was no variation on the text; no hints as to motive, no demands for an apology, or a payoff. His guilt became a boulder on his psyche’s back.

Marsha arrived at his cubicle, interrupting his ruminations. She held out a steaming mug of coffee for him then perched on his visitor’s chair. Leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, she whispered.

“Josh. Sweetie. There are rumors all over the office. Why did you do it?” Stunned, he jerked around to face her. “Why don’t you pay for the newspaper like the rest of us instead of just taking it each day?”

Josh stared back at her momentarily confused. Then he leaned back into his chair and laughed until he cried.