Mandatory Fun Workshop

A semi-documentary calm. Fluorescents. A bulletin board plastered with “BREAKROOM REPUBLIC” rules in mismatched fonts. The snack table sits like a dais.

On the counter: the COFFEE STATION. A single, battered BOX OF K-CUPS like a relic.

DANA SERRANO stands in front of it, arms crossed — interim Speaker energy, exhausted eyes.

OWEN KLINE hovers too close, smiling like a candidate at a pancake breakfast.

PRIYA BHATNAGAR is at the table with a stapled packet titled: “THE CONSTITUTION OF THE BREAKROOM REPUBLIC (DRAFT 14).” She has a pen, color-coded tabs, and despair.

MARCUS PELL enters quietly with the soft footfalls of a man who has already decided the outcome.

Okay. Before anyone touches anything— we are having a mandatory fun workshop.

Mandatory fun? That’s— that’s authoritarianism with glitter.

It’s conflict de-escalation training. HR sent it. We have to roleplay “sharing.”

She gestures to a sad printout: a clipart smiley face holding hands.

“Activity One: The Trust Fall of Accountability.”

I don’t fall. I delegate falling.

If we’re doing this, can we please do it under a constitution?

She holds up her packet like scripture.

PRIYA (CONT’D)

Article One: Coffee is a public utility. Article Two: No single actor may hoard—

We’re not hoarding. We’re stewarding resources during a supply chain event.

Owen, you called it “the K-Cup crown” yesterday.

A metaphor. A flavorful metaphor.

Marcus’s eyes drift to the K-CUPS. He clocks the box’s flimsy tape. He’s doing math.

Workshop. Now. Pair up.

I choose Dana.

No.

I choose the microwave. The microwave has never betrayed me.

I’ll pair with Owen.

Owen’s smile twitches. Marcus’s doesn’t.

Fine. Activity One: “Compliment your partner’s leadership style.”

Your leadership style is… silent. Like a municipal budget hearing.

And yours is loud. Like a municipal budget hearing.

Dana checks the HR sheet, already regretting her career.

Activity Two. “Read your group charter aloud.”

PRIYA lights up. Finally. Purpose.

Thank you. Section Four: Beverage Equity. “All pods shall be logged, rotated, and distributed according to a need-based rubric—”

Need-based? It’s coffee, not organ donation.

Caffeine dependency is a real—

Point of order.

Everyone turns. Marcus has never said “point of order” without something dying.

Go ahead.

Mandatory fun requires participation. That includes… reading.

He plucks PRIYA’S CONSTITUTION packet off the table with two fingers, like it might be wet.

Priya gasps.

That’s Draft Fourteen!

Then it can survive scrutiny.

He flips it open— and subtly positions it between OWEN and the coffee station, like a curtain.

MARCUS (CONT’D)

Owen, as acting Majority of One, you should read the preamble.

I’m not reading her little— binder coup.

It’s a foundational document!

Owen. Read. Or HR makes us do “The Compliment Circle.”

Owen locks eyes with the K-cup box, visible over the top of the packet. Temptation.

Fine.

He grabs the packet. It’s thick. It has footnotes.

OWEN (CONT’D)

“We, the underslept employees of the breakroom, in order to form a more perfect snack union—”

Marcus moves. With the smoothness of a man returning a library book, he slides behind Owen’s shoulder and— in one motion— swaps the K-CUP BOX with an identical cardboard box from his tote bag.

Dana doesn’t notice. Priya is watching Owen suffer. Owen is trapped in the preamble.

OWEN (CONT’D)

“—establish justice, insure domestic tranquility—”

Look at that. Tranquility.

Marcus sets the REAL K-CUPS gently into his tote bag, under a folded “MANDATORY FUN” handout.

And Article Seven establishes an independent judiciary—

“—promote the general wellness—” This is propaganda.

It’s aspirational.

Owen finishes with a sigh and drops the packet like it’s hot.

Done. Now can we— as a nation— caffeinate?

Dana nods toward the coffee station like a peace offering.

One per person. We log it. No exceptions.

Owen lunges for the box— rips it open— and freezes.

Inside: TEA BAGS. Chamomile. Sleepytime. A tiny note on top.

He reads it aloud, voice cracking.

“YOU HAVE BEEN DECAF’D. —THE PROVISIONAL TREASURY.”

Priya’s eyes widen. Dana’s mouth opens.

Marcus…

Marcus already has his tote on. He adjusts it like a satchel of state secrets.

Mandatory fun taught us something today.

What.

Reading slows you down.

He exits, serene.

A beat. The breakroom absorbs the betrayal.

Under my constitution, that’s a felony.

Under my memo, it’s also… rude.

Owen stares at the tea bag box like it just passed a bill.

We’ve been coup’d… by chamomile.

Dana looks to camera, dead.

And this is why we can’t have fun.

Marcus walks away, tote swinging. He passes a wall sign:

“MUNICIPAL BUILDING: MANDATORY FUN WORKSHOP TODAY!”

He pulls out a REAL K-CUP like a coin, considers it.

Checks and balances.

He pockets it and keeps walking.