It took every cell in his body to keep himself from snapping at his coworkers, but moreso to keep his face turned away. He's probably seen Stanley's ass more than he can count, and today Charles only wanted to enjoy the cheap cup of coffee in his hand. He cleared his throat to block out any nonsensical conversation, he needed to save some braincells in order to look over the stack of binders on his desk. 

As Sam's voice broke through the coughing, Charles turned to greet him with a tight-lipped smile. [color=fff200]"It's stuck. So poking at it with a screwdriver is out of the question Sam. Trust me, I tried."[/color] Further indicating that Charles kept a screwdriver on him at all times apparently. [color=fff200]"But again, be my guest."[/color]

With a hasty amble, Charles secured himself in his squeaking office chair with a long sigh. [color=fff200]"Imagine how quick a therapist would piss their pants if I ever went to one and told 'em about this place."[/color] He spoke to the rubber duck sitting at his desk near a glass of pens and highlighters. Only a few of them worked, but ever since Charles was banned from flinging pens at the trashcan across the department, he'd never found the motivation to throw the dead ones away. Boss said it violated safety regulations, as if breathing the same air as his coworkers was much safer.