Magnetic Poetry Bandit Part 2

Okay. Remember this post?

Chances are you missed it. You were probably so enraptured with my 1990 mullet that you didn’t scroll down and read the previous post from that day. Go ahead and read it now. We’ll wait.

All caught up? Good.

Well, I returned to my miserable little cubicle farm today to see what hijinks the people messing with my magnetic poetry were up to. I’d last left the message: who are you on the board. I was somewhat pleased to see that there was a response.

you are beneath me

Hmm… Someone’s being a little saucy. I started to think. Who could this be? Someone with a superiority complex to be sure. I know it isn’t my boss. She doesn’t roll like that. Then I started wondering if it’s one of the accounting zombies that lumber around down here in the basement.

As I turned to put down my stuff and get crackin’ on some work, I spotted something that would bring this whole mystery to a close. Mail. Specifically, a pile of mail.

Here’s the catch: It isn’t my mail.

Someone, and I’m assuming it’s the Magentic Poetry Bandit had set down some of the mail they meant to deliver to the various cubicles. They set it down so they could have free hands in which to manipulate the magnetic poetry on my cabinet. The fool(s) left the pile sitting on my desk, undelivered.

Now, I could just deliver it myself seeing as most of it belongs to my teammates, but that’s no fun. No, I’m going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.