The scene opens with me feeding roughly one million envelopes into the mailing machine after I was conned/begged/suckered into running the mail for a co-worker who feigned inability to run the finicky machine.
Co-worker (strolling up nonchalantly, clutching some envelopes and peering at me curiously): Oh…are you running mail?
My Fantasy Reply: No! My brain was viciously overpowered by this whirring, buzzing, maniacal, possessed mailing machine from hell, and it has forced me to be its love slave, feeding it envelopes endlessly, ceaselessly, forever, until I die! Please call a priest, a SWAT team, a nun, anyone who can help! I can help myself no longer; it’s too late for me, but save yourself and run, run like the wind, far away from this Pitney Bowes demon from the bowels of Satan, before it renders you a helpless envelope-pushing love slave too! (*gasping, crying, covering my face in despair*)
My Actual Reply: (What makes you think I would say anything less than the Fantasy Reply?)
Production Note: No idiots, morons, or fools were harmed in the previous scene, though the temptation was mighty.