It was supposed to be a good day. They came bearing gifts inside large pink boxes. We veterans recognized the danger but the noobs partook. Donuts. Pastries. The bastards had activated PieNet. The moment it went online, the sugar high sent shockwaves of energy. Phil in the mailroom proclaimed himself Boxus, god of shipping. When the energy spike plummeted, we were easy pickings.
We soon fractured into warring clans; old rivalries long dormant were reawakened. Accounts Payable and Accounts Receivable clashed in a desperate attempt to seize and plant their tape flags on the high ground. Stenographers will type the epic tale of the 'Battle of Cubicle 13' for generations. As Accounts Payable was repulsed, you could hear Accounts Receivable's battle cry of "Bill them all, let Quicken sort 'em out!".
In Tax we prepared as best we could by loading our staplers with heavy gauge, full magazines. Across the main aisle, HR loudly disciplined their troops.
"What is the law?!"
"Not to hire blood!"
"What is the law!?"
"Not to walk, but to email all W4's!"
And so on.
Gladys was standing guard for us, her blue beehive fully loaded with pens and pencils. Her steely gaze was apparent behind her tortoise shell horned rims. Gladys has seen some shit. She has that thousand form stare.
Then we saw it. A Juggernaut Class oaken conference table gliding across the indoor/outdoor all purpose office carpet tile. She was carrying a six man crew and her aft fully loaded with stacks of 20 lb paper. That really cheap stuff that will tear a man's fingertips to shreds if crumpled incorrectly. And we were out of fingertip moisteners. Her captain was barking orders for full speed and the crew was paddling with poster tubes. We knew then that the mailroom had fallen. Rest easy, Boxus.
"Give us yer net operating losses and carryovers, ye skalliwags!' Her captain cried.
We answered in a hail of staples in rapid fire but that barely slowed them down. Then we launched the Geek Fire, a vile mixture of laserjet ink and White-Out, but to no avail. They'd covered their craft with high gloss sheet protectors and the ink never even had a chance to soak in. Thru the toner smoke we saw Oscar from Marketing running for cover but they deducted him within seconds. Only his bandoleer of highlighters remained.
We fired the last of our filing extension requests and retreated into a hastily built tax shelter but their paperwads are taking their toll. Our liability shield is failing and our Pink Pearl eraser supply is running low. We are hoping for reinforcements soon.