Shannon’s on edge. Those big wigs are in town. Since the e-mail reminder about company dress, she’s kept her eyes peeled for shorts, flip flops, and beanies. The break room smells of supreme pizza. This is one of the few times the minions get free lunch. While carrying drinks across the room, Shannon spots the chief financial officer, and awkwardly places the bottles on the tablecloth. “Would you like a drink, sir… uh… Mr. Palmer?” It’s his favourite, but Shannon shook it a bit too much. It was like a prankster shoved mentos into diet coke and sealed it shut.