The New Coffee Treaty

A fluorescent-lit oasis: mismatched chairs, a sad ficus, a coffee station that’s seen things. A folding table labeled in Sharpie: “SNACKS.”

DANA SERRANO tapes up a memo with ruthless precision. Title: “SNACK TABLE GUIDELINES (DRAFT).”

OWEN KLINE enters, mid-stride, sees the memo like it’s a personal attack.

Oh my God.

It’s guidelines.

OWEN (to camera, semi-whisper)

She’s regulating pretzels. Next is oxygen.

PRIYA BHATNAGAR stands at the coffee station, carefully leveling creamer like it’s chemistry. MARCUS PELL sits with a stapler and a legal pad, observing like a birdwatcher.

Dana smooths the paper. Bullets include: “NO DOUBLE-DIPPING,” “LABEL PERSONAL FOOD,” “COFFEE CREAMER: ONE SPLASH.”

“One splash”? What is this, a Victorian orphanage?

It’s a shared resource. We’re adults.

OWEN steps closer, reads it, then slowly turns to the room—performative.

I move that we reject this memo on the grounds that—

There is no “move.” This is a breakroom.

Not anymore.

He grabs a paper plate, sets it on the table like a gavel.

OWEN (CONT'D)

I hereby declare this snack table a sovereign republic. A nation. A—

Owen, I just got here.

Technically, the table is state property.

Then we are a state.

Dana pinches the bridge of her nose.

Okay. Cute. Now can we—

We require governance. Procedure. Representation.

He gestures to the memo.

OWEN (CONT'D)

This is unilateral rulemaking. That’s— that’s snack tyranny.

PRIYA (to camera)

I once worked in actual government. This is worse, because the stakes are raisins.

Marcus quietly flips his legal pad. At the top: “BREAKROOM REPUBLIC - FOUNDING MEETING.”

If we’re doing this, we need interim rules. Like… who speaks.

No one speaks. We eat granola bars and leave.

Motion to convene the First Assembly of the Breakroom Republic.

He slaps the paper plate. It wobbles.

Do we get health insurance?

We get dignity.

We don’t have quorum.

Quorum is whoever is hungry.

Priya opens the snack drawer. It’s mostly tea bags and two questionable fruit snacks.

Then we have quorum.

Dana looks at the memo, then at three faces waiting for her to fight them or join them.

Fine. Five minutes. Then I’m going to work.

OWEN (beaming)

The Chair recognizes Dana Serrano for… opposition.

Stop calling me Chair.

We need a vote on the guidelines.

Yes! Democracy!

Can we vote on “one splash” because that’s not medically sound.

You can have two splashes.

Look at that. Concessions extracted from power.

Dana shoots him a look: *don’t make me regret this.*

MARCUS (already writing)

Alright. Motion: adopt “Snack Table Guidelines” as provisional law, amended to “two splashes.”

Seconded. And I demand a roll call vote.

For four people?

For history.

Roll call. Owen Kline?

OWEN (grand)

Nay. This document is oppressive and vaguely damp.

It’s paper.

Priya Bhatnagar?

Aye, with amendments, because I want peace and coffee.

Marcus Pell?

Marcus considers, eyes flicking to the snack drawer, then the memo.

Aye.

All eyes turn to Dana.

I… also vote aye. So we can stop doing this.

It passes. The Breakroom Republic is born— under protest.

Marcus taps his pen like a judge.

Now, per interim parliamentary procedure, the person who posts a rule—

—becomes interim Speaker.

Dana freezes.

That’s not a thing.

It is now. It’s in my notes.

Priya sips coffee, enjoying this too much.

Congratulations, Madam Speaker. Please address the creamer crisis.

Dana looks to camera, deadpan, trapped.

I just wanted people to stop leaving hummus open.

OWEN raises the paper-plate gavel.

Speaker Serrano, the nation awaits your agenda.

Dana stares at the snack table like it’s a bomb.

My first agenda item is… everyone goes back to their desks.

A beat.

Fascist.

Marcus slides the memo down and, beneath it, tapes a new sheet: “BREAKROOM REPUBLIC - INTERIM ROLES.”

Under “SPEAKER”: DANA SERRANO.

Dana watches him do it, helpless.

PRIYA (to camera)

In my experience, the fastest way to get promoted is to touch the coffee.

OWEN (to camera, delighted)

We’re going to need a flag.

Dana exhales, already regretting her life choices.

TITLE CARD: “BREAKROOM REPUBLIC”