“Ah, the yearly evaluations. I did mine in iambic pentameter last year,” Corbin said.

“Did he sign it?” Beckett sounded shocked.

“Without reading it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he never told me to take out the part where I listed harnessing the power of lightning as an achievement for the year.”

Beckett stared at Corbin. “You’re insane, you know that?”

Corbin grinned. “I do like to amuse myself.”

Beckett sat down, put his feet on his desk, and picked up his copy of The Washington Post, required reading for federal employees. “Aren’t you afraid someone will read it, someone who cares, like a future employer or an inspector general?”

“Not really. These evaluations go into our files, never to be seen again. Besides, it’s Kak’s name on the form. He’s the one who swore I conquered lightning, not me. I can’t help it if he was a little over-exuberant in his praise. I bring that out in people.”

“Well, I need to take mine seriously.”

“Don’t worry my friend, this is Club Fed, everyone gets great evaluations no matter how crappy they work.”

Corbin and Beckett had similar experiences upon joining the office. The more diligently they worked, the more their coworkers dropped by and “jokingly” suggested they slow down. When neither heeded those suggestions, Kak himself “jokingly” suggested they slow down. When they ignored his hint as well, Kak cut off their supply of work. When they still found work despite Kak’s embargo, Kak took the extraordinary step of telling them directly to “slow down or else.” These days, Corbin and Beckett did just enough work to annoy Kak.

Beckett looked at his blank form and grimaced. “This really is a horrible job. What I can’t figure out though, is why you’re here? This doesn’t seem your speed at all.”