By Mariela Hudson
At 11pm sharp most weekdays, the offices of The Hollow Times closes for the day. Locking away its secrets for the next weekday. All human like entities are required to leave the premises at this time lest the CEO suspects them of trying to pilfer an extra minute or two of overtime.
The fairy, trolls and goblins employed by the office are expected to slave away at writing proofs, hunting high crime areas for sources, cleaning the office bathrooms and keeping the printing presses warm for the night. This is what is expected but this is not what happens.
It is common knowledge to the morning staff that these mythic creatures engage the office space for more casual purposes. Namely, crazy partying.
When the lights go out, the mythic creatures come out of their hiding places and set the ceremonial torches around the office building. As the blue, purple and green lights fill the area, the kegs come out and the music is played over the PA system. The normally quiet goblins crawl from the basement and start swinging on the office fans to the bass of late 2000s dubstep remixes. The fairies rain glitter down on the entire scene, intoxicating all in their magic.
“Sets the mood you know,” said Penny Rosestone, an office fairy who works in the guts of the copy machine.
“Everyone in the office works really hard to get things up and running. Most of us live here. You can’t expect us to not have fun when you humans are allowed to go out to your homes and clubs outside the office,” Rosestone commented further.
Many other mythic creatures made similar statements defending their nightly raves. Finch Zephyr, one of the goblins that keeps the presses warm, said that he looks to the nightly parties as a type of stress relief.
“I put in a hard day’s work most days I’m here,” Zephyr said as he rearranged the metal letter blocks with his long ink stained fingers. “Why shouldn’t I have a little fun when the office closes?”
It’s not all fun. Garoth, the head of the bathroom trolls, holds many simultaneous raves in washrooms across the office where its participants illegally snort fairy dust and other mind bending substances to the tune of 70s punk rock. Chants to “Rock the Casbah” could be heard with the loud clamor of stall doors and flushing toilets.
Garoth refused to comment on these accusations. He shooed off inquiries with the end of his glitter soaked mop as he cursed this reporter off in his ancient tongue.
On returning to work the following morning, it’s not uncommon to find streamers in the lunchroom, oddly sweet smelling brews in the toilets and glitter in the desk drawers.
Emery Fall, the newsroom grump, can be heard screaming curses Tuesday morning as he cleaned his office space.
“Those damn trolls do this every morning! Every morning!” Fall said while pulling out the bespeckled mushrooms from beneath his desk.
“I’m reporting this to HR. I’m getting all their toadstool asses fired!”
He would if there was an Human Resources to report to. Complaints are received by the skeletons who run the upper floors who promptly feed them to the shredders designated to nameless members of HR. Whether they’re seen by any of them is anyone’s guess.
After particularly crazy nights, there’ll be special runes written in the walls of certain office spaces that send many of our unsuspecting colleagues into hysterics. One such incident occurred last year when a whole group of interns in the main conference room foaming at the mouth and gyrating to unheard music.
Lila Henderson, one of the unfortunate victims of this event, recalled what happened in tears.
“There was the sound of rushing water and then, I don’t know. I was on the table being compelled to do the chicken,” Henderson said.
Similar incidents have occurred since then. After the weeklong holiday, many of the office workers found themselves compelled to some acts against their will due to some hidden rune that the partying creatures forgot to clean. On Jan. 9, copywriter Thomas Milk found himself ripping open his shirt and giving lap dances to a grandfather clock in the 3rd floor hallway. The next morning, members of our marketing division found themselves breaking into song in the breakroom. Gerard Manley gave a fantastic cover of “I Can’t Feel My Face” while replicating the dancing steps in the music video.
“I think I would’ve set myself on fire if September didn’t come in and wipe away the rune. I was really feeling the music.”
Whether anything is likely to change to prevent these incidences from occurring is the topic of rigorous office debate. Direct inquiries sent to the CEO usually end in broken bones or possible devourment.
This article was written with contributions from Regina Carlisle and Anais Winters.