We don’t talk a lot about dying at work. We talk about our old jobs. Or former coworkers maybe. Sometimes we laugh at our colleagues’ incompetence and bitch about management.

“Are you going to die someday?” I ask Darcie The Sales Manager.

“Me? Never,” says Darcie, winking at me.

“You?” she asks.

“I’m planning on it, but only reluctantly,” I reply.

“Knowing you’re going to die someday helps you take Saturdays more seriously,” says Darcie.

“Is that what they’re for?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“And Sundays?”

“Sundays are for the uninformed.”

“Do you skip them?”

“I do,” says Darcie. She winks again and walks over to the copy machine to flirt with Ted.

Ted, that sonofabitch.