When Mortimer Crump heard the crash, and watched his co-workers prairie-dog to see what had fallen, he stayed put in his cubicle; it was all he could do to stifle his laugh. Alice the mailroom lady lay on the floor, moaning.
Mortimer knew which wheel on the mail cart wobbled. He knew the path Alice took twice a day to drop off everyone’s meaningless correspondence. He also knew which carpet square in that path was loose - the perfect place to hide a pen.
And he knew, someday, he’d probably get caught. He didn’t care. The joy was worth it.