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pocket.
“Hak-kah.”
This is Wendell clearing his throat. “So you said last time. I have, however, taken the liberty of contacting Infrastructure Management for a parking plan. If I may direct your attention to this particular space
here,
the one your vehicle is currently occupying, you'll see it's marked TRAINING SALES DEPARTMENT — SR 2. That, Roger, is me. You have the next space along.” He stabs the paper, at a space five feet farther from the elevator.
    Roger waves the plan away. He has been a sales rep just six weeks; previously he was a customer. But he is terrifically talented, which makes Wendell nervous. Roger is too confident, his dark brown eyes too piercing. His hair is obviously executive material. Lately Wendell has been working ninety extra minutes a day and skipping lunch. Elizabeth has been affected, too; she's now constantly out on sales calls. But this is because being close to Roger makes her want to strangle him with his tie. “Infrastructure Management doesn't have the authority to appoint individual car spaces. It's up to each departmental manager. In our case, Sydney hasn't announced a system, so it's laissez-faire.”
    Wendell hesitates, unsure exactly how the balance of power works between Infrastructure Management and departmental managers. “In the absence of a decision from Sydney, we'd default to Infrastructure Management's allocation, surely.”
    “If you want to argue that, take it up with Sydney,” Roger says. “Until then, it's laissez-faire.”
    “If it's
laissez-faire,
” Wendell says, his voice rising, “
why do you always park in the same spot?
You never take Sydney's or Elizabeth's space. Everybody parks in the same spot every day, except
you always take mine.
”
    “That's just coincidence.” Roger allows this absurdity to hang in the air for a moment. “But I tell you what. I'll try not to park in quote your unquote space if you tell me why you took my donut.”
    “I didn't take your damn donut! Don't change the subject.”
    “Did you think it was some kind of revenge? Really, I'm just curious.”
    “I have no idea what happened to your donut, Roger, and I'm not going to discuss it. Just stay out of my parking space. Or I
will
go to Sydney.” Wendell storms off to his desk, which is the next one along and shares a low wall with Roger's. When they're both seated, they stare at each other over the top of their docked notebook computers, their teamwork and productivity—if you believe the memos—steadily increasing.

    Jones walks down the orange-and-black carpeted corridor and pushes through the glass doors to Training Sales. He stops and looks around his new corporate home: at the cubicles, the Berlin Partition, the framed motivational posters ( IT ' S NOT HOW LONG YOU WORK, IT ' S HOW SMART ), the coffee machine, the complete absence of natural light. He spots Freddy, who gestures to the other side of the Partition (the rich side, West Berlin). Jones follows directions. Three people are there, all on the phone and none paying him any attention. He peers at their nameplates until he finds ROGER JEFFERSON, then waits by his desk. Roger says to his phone, “But I can't get the forms to Order Processing until they're approved by Legal. Well, you tell that to Credit. Until they release the hold, Marketing won't sign off.” He frowns at Jones. “What do you want?”
    Jones points to his ID tag. “Hi! I'm your new grad.”
    Roger tells his phone, “Hold on a second.” He covers the mouthpiece. “Seven or eight?”
    “Seven or eight wha—” Jones realizes. “The Catering department says Training Sales got eight donuts this morning.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Jones is sure. Catering had a formal snack delivery process, complete with charts. Next to TRAINING SALES DEPARTMENT was an 8 and a tick. They stood behind their chart. Jones felt awkward questioning them, because of the chart and because they were cleaning out the whole area in preparation for being