I'm at work (though nothing like my real work), and I'm in a sort of warehouse in search of solder. Vickie is there and she asks me about some mattresses, of which there are numerous among the clutter in this warehouse. Some of them are marked "destroy" in my handwriting with a red pen. I think she wants to get rid of them, but first she is going to line them up and put some covering on them to make them more attractive. She asks if I could help pull them out and stand them up.

She also reminds me of a rumor regarding the ones I have marked; I heard the rumor already, and I tell her it's not true.

Steve R. then comes in to help us line up the mattresses. Vickie points out that I have to tell him the story of the rumor.

I tell him the story. The rumor was that, in a previous building, I had a bed in my office, and I had some sort of illicit affair in this bed. Then things went sour, the affair was exposed, and as a result all the mattresses involved were condemned. But the rumor wasn't true, it was just a crazy conjecture, and I had simply marked the mattresses one time when trying to get our storage organized.

Steve is sitting on a desk by the door. There is a computer monitor next to him, and I notice that he is fidgeting on the computer as we are talking, although I wonder how he knows what he's doing, because the monitor is not within his view. Perhaps there is another one on the ceiling?

He is apparently occupying the spare cycles of himself and the computer in a charitable enterprise, generating colorful random numbers for little children.