Bae knocks on the door of Dave Carlisle office and walks in without asking. “Oh, hi Bae,” you hear from inside, “have a seat! How’s your auntie?”
You retreat from Carlisle’s aftershave fumes. Bae’s not getting paid enough for this, you decide. Hurtling around the corner, just fast enough to avoid two technicians pushing an IBM 3400 Winchester hard disc unit into a room labelled “STAFF ONLY”, you leap across the printer room, feet not touching the ground until you are inside the paper cupboard.
Your eyes scan the stocks: A3, A4, foolscap. You know it’s certainly not an A3 fax machine, so you reach forward with confidence and take:
A pack of A4. (goto 03)
A pack of foolscap. (goto 06)