🐾 Oishi You may know me as Susan’s emotional support dog. Or the stoic philosofurr in red. But behind these soulful eyes and perfectly parted fur is a list. A sacred scroll. A constitution of calm and comfort.
Here are my House Rules — to be followed by Susan. No exceptions. No backtalk.
🐶 Oishi’s House Rules:
I only eat chicken. Anything else is a culinary insult.
Do not — I repeat, do not — remove my red bandana.
Belly rubs are required at bedtime. It’s law.
Scrub gently during baths. I’m a Shih Tzu, not a loofah.
I sleep beside you. I don’t care if you’re tired, mad, or engaged in existential dread.
When playing music, I prefer smooth jazz. Do not argue.
No baby voice. I’m a grown dog. With taxes.
Share your siopao or donut. You always say you’re full halfway through anyway.
Don’t cry in the bathroom. I can hear you. I will sit outside the door like a furry therapist.
If someone hurts you, I will attack. Emotionally. With judgment. And dramatic barking.
✍️ Writer’s Note:
These rules were written under strict supervision. Oishi stared at me the whole time like a furry editor-in-chief.
Golden skies. Green grass. Clean air. Me, a sheep (I think), and a man in white robes with a long stick that curves at the end are walking down a peaceful path. The sheep, as much as I hate to admit it, is cuter than me. But we don’t talk about that. I’d rather focus on the man.
There’s something about Him—He’s calm, steady, unlike Susan. Walking with her is like being in a pinball machine. She talks too much, walks in zigzags, and somehow always needs to pick me up mid-walk to rant about random injustices. Like that one time she scooped me just to yell about the policeman who gave her a parking ticket. (For the record, I told her not to make that illegal U-turn. Did she listen? No. She said, “Oh don’t you worry, Badoodle, it’s lunchtime. No cops around.” Guess what? Cops eat in shifts. Classic Susan.)
Anyway, I love her. I wonder where she is now. I’d love to introduce her to this man.
As we walk, He asks, “Oishi, do you miss your human companion? Is she good to you? Do you take care of each other? Does she comfort you when you’re sad—and does she let you do the same for her?”
It takes me a moment to respond. Not because I don’t know the answers, but because… how does He know my name?
His voice is low and steady. You just believe Him when He speaks.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re made for each other. She’s dramatic. I’m a stoic philosofurr. She loves me like a little hooman. I listen to her rants. And not all of them are nonsense, you know. Sometimes she’s really hurting. Loud outside, but you can see her heart’s aching.”
He smiles. “I know. I’ve never left her side—or yours.” He laughs, softly. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s praying or auditioning for a drama series.”
“I prefer sincere prayers, Oishi.”
Susan Narrating:
It was Saturday—our usual kind of day. We woke up. I gave Oishi a bath, even though he clearly resents water and me when I do it. But come on, he sleeps beside me. You think I’m letting him go two weeks unbathed?
After his traumatic bath, we hit the market. I got his favorite—chicken. Then back in the car, music playing, he’s smiling at me like he knows I’d take a bullet for him. I thought, “He’s my companion. I love him. I don’t know what I’ll do when he leaves.”
Then: “WANG WANG WANG!”
I thought, “Is that an ambulance? The road is clear, just go!” But nope. Cop. And yeah… I may have made a slight illegal U-turn.
I offered him a few bucks to make it go away. He smiled and said, “Step out of the vehicle.” Notebook out. Suddenly, we’re in a police station.
Honestly, maybe he’s just hot and wanted an excuse to talk to me.
Oishi Narrating:
Turns out we weren’t at the station because of the U-turn. The market vendor who hates Susan said she stole something.
Susan was stunned. Then, in classic fashion, became theatrical.
“Steal? From you?! HOW? With what bag? Where would I hide a WATERMELON?! Show me the watermelon!”
The vendor was angrier. She grabbed a coconut. Yes—a literal coconut. And THREW IT.
Susan ducked. Another flew.
Now listen. I know I’m just a shih tzu. But nobody—nobody—messes with my Susan.
I took off my red bandana. Tied it around my head.
Battle mode.
I ran. I barked. I launched myself like a four-legged blackbelt (or red, whatever).
And then—
Everything went black.
Hospital Scene
I woke up standing beside the Man again. Mighty Paw was with Him.
“Hey Mighty Paw,” I said. “Didn’t see you there. Everything alright?”
His eyes were teary. That’s when I looked around.
And I saw Susan.
“Sus! Did you see that? I karate-chopped that woman!”
But she didn’t hear me. She wasn’t looking.
She was crying.
I looked up at the Man. “Why is she crying? We won, right? I bit that watermelon lady!”
He extended His hand. There was a hole.
And then I remembered. This was Jesus. The one I always call when Susan’s having one of her epic breakdowns.
“I remember You,” I whispered. “You always look after us.”
“Then you know,” Mighty Paw said gently, “why we’re here.”
I looked.
On the table—it was me.
All I could think was: Who will hug Susan when she gets home? Who will lick her tears? Bring her slippers? Who will comfort her when she’s exhausted from work—and from life?
“Jesus… please… do something.”
Susan (quietly praying):
“It was my fault. If I’d just walked away… If I’d just kept my mouth shut… he’d be fine. God, I know You’re listening. Please. Let him stay.”
Then I heard it.
A bark.
Soft. Familiar.
I looked—and there he was.
Tears in his eyes. Mine too. I kissed his forehead.
“Thank You, Lord… thank You for giving us another chance.”
Oishi:
I barked. She heard me. Her kiss felt like warmth.
We went home.
She patched my wound (stupid coconut), tucked me in bed. On the phone, I heard her talking to Brenda.
“Hey Brenda… what does it mean to ‘turn the other cheek’? And, uh, do I really have to?”
Brenda, being a pastor’s daughter, gave her a whole sermon. Told her to attend Mass regularly—not just when she feels like it.
📝 Writer’s Note:
I’ve seen a lot of fights like this—on the road, at the market, even in quiet neighborhoods. No dogs were harmed… but a lot of pride was.
It made me think: our anger often explodes over the smallest things. A wrong word. A cut in line. A petty misunderstanding.
I’m not writing this as someone who’s mastered patience—I’ve failed too.
Once, I lost my temper with a customer. They insulted me, and I snapped. I nearly lost my job. My manager told me, “Even if you were right, the way you acted was wrong.” I felt ashamed. I never got the chance to apologize — and I still think about it. That moment taught me something.
I understand why people react when they’re hurt, insulted, or wrongfully accused.
Anger is real.
Hurt is real.
But so is grace.
That’s what this story is about—not courtroom justice or letting evil win. This isn’t about big, criminal things. It’s about everyday wounds. Emotional scrapes we get just from trying to live around other humans.
“Turn the other cheek” doesn’t mean becoming a doormat. It means pausing before your pride takes over. It means choosing not to let someone else’s cruelty write your next chapter.
This is for the personal moments—the ones where ego wants to shout, but wisdom whispers, breathe. You might still feel angry when you walk away today, but you’ll be lighter tomorrow. You’ll be proud of who you were when no one was watching.
Let’s not carry regret over something we could’ve simply walked away from.
Wishing you peace—in your heart, your mind, and your everyday moments,
I was looking for a Bible story that’s not as mainstream as the usual Noah’s Ark or David and Goliath showdown. That’s when I stumbled on Numbers 22 and found a talking donkey. Yes. A. Talking. Donkey.
And I thought, Wow. This donkey really made it into scripture. She deserves a certificate or something.
If you haven’t read it yet, go to Numbers 22:21–34. (You thought I was going to summarize it for you, didn’t you? Okay, fine.
🐴 Balaam, Moab, and the Talking Donkey
The Israelites had camped in Moab, and King Balak of Moab was sweating bullets. He’d seen what Israel did to other kingdoms, and he was like, “Nope. Not today.” So he sent people to a prophet named Balaam with one request:
“Curse these people for me, please. We’ll pay well.”
Balaam asked God, and God said:
NO. “These people are blessed. Do not touch them.”
Balaam delivered the message. King Balak, however, had the persistence of a toddler in a candy aisle. He sent more messengers—this time with a bigger, shinier offer.
Balaam said, “Wait here. I’ll ask God again.” (Pause: The first time God already said no. But the offer now had more zeroes. Suspicious? Yes.)
God responded:
“Fine. Go. But you can only say what I tell you to.”
So Balaam went—but God saw through him. His feet were walking, but his heart was for sale. God was angry.
So He sent an angel with a sword to block Balaam’s path.
Only problem? Balaam couldn’t see the angel. But guess who could? His donkey.
🗡️ Donkey vs. Angel: The OG Roadblock
Round 1: The donkey swerved into a field. Round 2: The donkey crushed Balaam’s foot against a wall. Round 3: She just sat down like, “We’re not dying today.”
Balaam, being spiritually blind and emotionally dramatic, beat the donkey three times. That’s when God said, “Enough.”
And He opened the donkey’s mouth.
She said:
“What did I do to deserve this? Have I ever acted like this before?”
Balaam, still in full delusion, answered her like she was just another commuter.
Then God opened Balaam’s eyes—and there was the angel, sword drawn.
“If your donkey hadn’t turned away, I would’ve killed you. She saved your life.”
Balaam repented.
🎯 The Lesson That Hit Me
There are a lot of takeaways here. But the one that hit me like a divine chancla was this:
Balaam asked God once—and God said no. But then he asked again, hoping to change God’s mind… because the second offer looked better.
I do that too.
Sometimes, God says no. And I accept it… for like a day. Then I try again. And again. Trying to convince Him why this time it makes sense. Why this door should open. Why this blessing feels justified.
And sometimes, He gives me what I ask—but not because it was right. Because He’s letting me learn.
But now that I’m getting older (emotionally, spiritually, and in actual knee-crack years), I’ve started to understand God more. Not always. I still stumble. I still ask Him too many questions. But slowly, I’m learning to trust that even His no is an act of love.
🙏 Trust Comes From Knowing Who He Is
To trust someone, you need to know their character. And God’s character?
He’s our Creator: Look at the mountains, the ocean, the stars, and that one sunset that stopped you mid-scroll.
He’s our Father: He gives, disciplines, and stays.
He’s our Savior: Jesus healed the sick, gave sight to the blind, and raised the dead.
He’s our Helper: The Holy Spirit prays on our behalf when we don’t have the words.
So even if I still ask for things, I no longer do it with bitterness when the answer is no. Just a quiet kind of waiting. Because I trust who’s behind the decision.
What about you? What part of Balaam’s story do you relate to?
(And if your donkey starts talking, please don’t argue. Just listen.)
Narrator: Oishi (Seriously, I’m tired. I’m a dog. But here we are.)
It was Saturday night. Susan and I were chillin’ — karaoke, snacks, general chaos. Then came the knock. Brenda stood there… holding a Bible.
Susan blinked. “You must be lost. This is our house, not a church.”
Brenda walked in anyway.
She said she had to leave town urgently and needed someone to substitute as Sunday School teacher. She wanted Susan to cover for her.
I almost choked. Poor children. Susan doesn’t even read the Bible. One time, she thought Leviticus was Pete’s replacement.
Susan nearly dropped her siopao and began melodramatically stomping around, reciting a full roll call of coworkers who’d be better choices.
Brenda, unfazed, said, “You’re literally the last person I asked.”
Susan (rude) mentally noted that, but kept listening. Everyone else was out of town. And Brenda knew Susan was just going to drag me to the park and inhale siopao and milk tea.
With full drama, Susan stared at the ceiling. “I’ll do it… for the Lord. I’ll do it… for you. I’ll do it… for Oishi. I’ll do it for the economy.”
Brenda hugged her and handed over the topic: The Story of Creation.
Susan scooped me up, stared deeply into my soul (her face looked unusually close), and whispered:
“Badoodle. Prepare yourself. We are entering uncharted territory. We are built for this. Yeah. We are built for this.”
She took a swig of hot matcha, held a siopao in her other hand, sat down, and Googled:
“Tell me how the world is created, if possible step-by-step because I need to teach little humans.”
Somehow, she found it.
Genesis 1: In the beginning God created the sky and the earth…
She read all the way to Genesis 30.
Then she looked at me — half in awe, half in shock. “Oishi… God made everything out of nothing. He made dirt… beautiful. He made life. He made you. He made me.” (She said that while hugging me like I was a stuffed animal she forgot to give back.)
She kept reading:
“Look, I have given you all the plants that have grain for seeds…”
And she paused.
“He didn’t just create, Oishi… He provided.”
Sunday morning: Susan woke up early. Ironed a white dress. I didn’t even know she owned one. She had her hair down. That was new.
She scooped me up, tied on my red bandana, and said, “Oishi, we are going to church. Behave.”
(I wanted to say you should be the one hearing that — but I let it slide.)
The church was warm and bright. People were smiling. The piano music made everything feel… soft. Sacred.
Then I looked over and saw Susan… yawning. Classic.
After the mass, we headed to the kids’ classroom.
And Susan began to teach.
✍️ Writer’s Note Sometimes we get so caught up in work, media, and scrolling that we forget to look around. To notice the sky. The trees. The siopao we didn’t deserve. God didn’t just make us — He provides for us.
Let’s not forget how wildly good our Creator is.
From the hearts of Susan & Oishi — 🐾 Still rising. Still barking.
Narrator: Oishi (as if there’s anyone else classy enough for this role)
As usual, Susan was at work — emotionally caffeinated, philosophically unprepared — and last night she dumped an entire story on me. I must now share it with you, dear reader, so I don’t suffer alone in silence.
It was Friday — the world’s emotional support day. Busy, but chill. The boss lady, Cassandra, had just called in a food order for the staff. She’s not always in the office, but she shows love the best way she knows how: carbs.
Now Cassandra is so poised, even Jezzie Bell and Dinah get insecure just by breathing in her cologne mist. She walks by, and suddenly everyone’s fixing their posture and pretending their spreadsheets aren’t fanfiction.
At The SIGNAL Co., gossip is a language. A lifestyle. Possibly an inherited condition. It was barely 8:00 AM when Yohanes crashed into the department like a news anchor possessed, shouting,
“MAKE WAY! I am reporting live from Rome — I have pope-level information.”
Susan, mid-donut. Brenda, the only one actually working, half-listening. Yohanes? Fully seated on Susan’s desk, wearing the energy of a caffeinated pigeon.
“There’s a reshuffle coming! Someone’s getting transferred!” Gasp — Susan almost drops her donut. Gasp — Yohanes inhales like he saw his own funeral. Gasp — Brenda doesn’t gasp. She fact-checks.
And then… Dinah.
Lurking. Listening. Lurking again.
She swoops in with that “just sharing, not saying” energy and drops this:
“I heard it’s Pete from Accounting. Apparently he messed up the company taxes.”
(No source. No logic. Just Dinah.)
Let the record show: Pete didn’t mess anything up. He asked Dinah for her tax computations, and she didn’t submit them. So now she’s blaming him for the delay. Classic.
Susan nearly faints. Yohanes looks ready to call CNN. Brenda, still grounded, says:
“Pete is the spreadsheet. He once calculated his way out of a traffic ticket.”
Dinah shrugs, throws her hands in the air and goes,
“Well… maybe he’s getting old. Just saying.”
Meanwhile, Jasper the intern approaches to give Susan her coffee. Unfortunately, Dinah’s hand is involved. A dramatic wrist flourish sends the coffee flying — all over Susan.
And Dinah?
“Ugh. Stupid intern. Why didn’t you walk around me?”
Jasper is mortified. Susan is sticky. And Ishmael, the janitor, glides in like a mop-wielding monk.
“Ma’am,” he says gently to Dinah, “he couldn’t have predicted your… hand choreography.”
Enter Horatio T. HR rep. Memo collector. Passive-aggressive with a soul.
He bursts from his office and booms:
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF DATA PRIVACY AND EMOTIONAL DAMAGE IS GOING ON HERE?!”
Dinah (of course) points at Yohanes:
“He started spreading gossip about Pete!”
Yohanes panics. Apologizes. Dinah smiles like a cat that deleted your files.
But even Horatio — who writes memos for therapy — can see the truth.
“ENOUGH. If there’s any transfer happening, I’ll be the one to announce it. I am HR. And FYI… no one’s being transferred.”
Yep. It was Dinah. Making things up. Again.
Later that day, Susan, Yohanes, and Brenda are whispering at the fire exit, still doing a full debrief. Then they hear two male voices from below.
One says:
“‘Do not go about spreading slander among your people. Do not do anything that endangers your neighbor’s life. I am the LORD.’ – Leviticus.”
Susan gasps:
“Wait — who’s Leviticus?! Is that Pete’s replacement?”
Yohanes:
“Or the new Data Analyst?”
Brenda rolls her eyes so hard the floor shakes:
“It’s a book in the Bible. That’s a verse. From the actual Bible Leviticus 19:16 !
They peek down and see… Ishmael. Quietly chatting with Horatio, who — surprisingly — sometimes seeks Ishmael’s advice.
Turns out, the janitor isn’t just wise. He’s scripturally sharp. Horatio had asked how to handle gossip. And Ishmael simply quoted the truth.
MEMO from Horatio T. – Subject: Defamation of Character (aka Gossip Ends Here)
To all employees (even if you’re morally bankrupt):
Gossip is part of our survival strategy in the office. Without it, how else would we bond over microwaved spaghetti? But let me make this clear—if your gossip causes harm, it will be your employment status that gets reshuffled.
Let’s build each other up, not burn each other down. In accordance with company policy… And the Book of Leviticus.
Or pack up your decorative mugs and leave.
Later that day, Susan and Yohanes didn’t gossip. They talked about the weather in Spain.
And Dinah? Well… she was unusually quiet. Either she’s reflecting, plotting, or Googling “Leviticus.” Who knows?
✍️ Writer’s Note
Hey, it’s me — Ember.
Just a little disclaimer:
The people in this story? Fictional. The chaos? Slightly exaggerated. But the message? Very real.
After nearly 20 years in different workplaces, I’ve seen how gossip — even the “light” kind — can spread fast and hit deep. I’ve been a Susan and a Yohanes. This episode isn’t just for laughs… it’s a gentle reminder: Let’s build each other up, not tear each other down.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for growing with me.
—Ember 🐾
Still learning. Still rising. Still talking to Oishi.
Narrator: Oishi (Reluctant. Tired. Overqualified for this nonsense.)
Oishi (narrating): I don’t want to do this, but apparently, I’m the designated narrator of this madness—so here we are.
I’m surrounded. Literally. To my left: Sahsmi, an orange Chihuahua with eyes big enough to reflect existential dread. On the rug: Bibimbap, our baby green elephant with the emotional intelligence of a therapist. Next to him, reclining like a celebrity scandal: Tteokbokki, the baby monkey—mid-burger, always. Staring from the aquarium with judgey bubbles: Maeutang, the fish. And stretching out in full drama-pony glory: Bulgogi, the baby blue horse who thinks he’s majestic. He is. He’s also clumsy but he’s not on the picture yet.
Anyway. The past few days, Sus—my melodramatic, overcaffeinated hooman—has been coming home from work absolutely buzzing with chaos. She bursts through the door, scoops me up like I’m a purse dog, pins me under her arm, and says:
“Oishi, my badoodle—I have a juicy scoop for you!”
Then she monologues. For hours. Through dinner. Through dessert. Through my will to live.
But I love Sus. So even if her voice pierces my eardrums like a kazoo powered by drama, I listen. Because love is patient. And she has the snacks.
That said—my emotional support battery is draining faster than her phone at 3%. So each morning, when she leaves for work, I call my friends here and unload the tales before I emotionally combust. This, dear listener, is our ritual. And yes—there’s always a lesson, brought to you by yours truly: Oishi, your neighborhood PhilosoFurr.
There are 11 coworkers—and one very dramatic hooman.
Meet the team behind the drama. And the abs behind the confusion.
There’s ten of them. Yes, 12 if you will count my Sus. So don’t fall asleep on me—I know it’s a lot, but trust me, they’re all important. Every single one of these characters is either a blessing, a lesson… or a cautionary tale wearing business casual.
So listen up. Grab a fry. Let’s begin.
Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess
Susan V. is what happens when espresso, glitter, and unchecked emotions form a union. She’s in Customer Service but believes she’s in a high-stakes drama. Her morning mood is sponsored by “don’t talk to me,” and by dinner she’s dramatically whispering secrets into my ear like I’m her furry therapist.
She calls me her badoodle, scoops me up like I’m a plush toy, and unleashes daily monologues that rival Netflix dramas. She wears shirts that say “Exaggerated Princess” because truth in labeling is important.
But hey—she’s loyal, loud, and loves hard. So even if my ears suffer emotional damage, I listen. Because I love her.
Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst
Yohanes isn’t technically paid to know everything—but he does. He doesn’t spread gossip to hurt. He spreads it because he’s got a talent for “informative observation with jazz hands.”
His eyes sparkle with curiosity. His tone? Pure brunch gossip. He’s like the Wi-Fi of workplace drama—always on, mostly harmless.
He wears mint green, pumpkin orange, and positivity. Even when he delivers eyebrow-raising intel, it’s with a smile that says,
“I come in peace… but with details.”
We love him. Even when we pretend we don’t.
Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk
Horatio T. is the kind of guy who walked into HR one day and never left. Not physically. Not spiritually.
He’s got reddish-brown hair, thin-framed glasses, and a beige checkered suit so aggressively neutral it could erase your personality by eye contact alone. His tie? Pumpkin orange. Not because he’s fun. Because it’s mandatory brand compliance.
He doesn’t talk—he issues memos. He doesn’t walk—he stomps silently, like a disappointed librarian.
But here’s the twist: Deep, deep down in that spreadsheet-shaped soul… he has a heart. He’s helped employees file insurance claims like they were personal quests. He’s just trying to keep us from setting the place on fire—with rules.
We call him the Memo Monk because if enlightenment had a PowerPoint, he would’ve written it.
Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason
Brenda is the reason this workplace hasn’t collapsed into a flaming pit of passive aggression and bad decisions.
She’s 5’6″ of calm, moisturized authority. Her hair? Long, curly, hydrated. Her skin? Watered like a houseplant that knows its worth. She wears a calm green outfit paired with a delicate star pendant, like a walking parable with a good skincare routine. And her white sneakers? Spotless. Like her reputation.
Brenda is the only one who can:
Shush Yohanes mid-scoop.
Block Susan from eating a dozen donuts.
And disarm Horatio with a perfectly timed “Thank you for the memo, Horatio. We’ll take it into prayer.”
She doesn’t say much—but when she does? It’s with biblical judgment and motherly precision.
And rumor has it—she’s inviting Susan to church.
Brenda doesn’t chase drama. Drama knocks and Brenda answers with a raised brow and a scripture.
Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch
He’s pale. He’s nervous. He clutches his calculator like it’s the last loaf of bread in a zombie apocalypse. His glasses are thick enough to see into next fiscal year. He dresses like someone who gets mad when people use the color ink in the printer. (Because he does.)
Pete’s superpower? Making everyone remember their taxes… in January.
“Don’t forget to file your W-2.”
He once tripped over a paperclip and filed an incident report… on himself.
But here’s the thing: Pete means well. He’s just… Pete. He’s the human version of a paper jam. Awkward, unavoidable, and kind of tragic. But he keeps us legal. Barely.
So we nod. We thank him. And we keep our receipts—just in case.
Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis
According to Susan, Macchismo is “so hot, volcanoes feel self-concious.” Her pupils turn into tiny cartoon hearts every time she talks about him. It’s deeply concerning.
Macchismo D. works in Sales, but let’s be honest—he sells himself just by walking into a room. He’s tall, muscular, and his raven-dark hair is so flawless. His smile sparkles. Literally. I suspect teeth glitter. Still investigating.
He wears light blue polos like a superhero costume, and he says things like,
“Let’s close this deal, team!” with the exact tone of someone who thinks that’s how you get promoted.
People love him. People trust him. And honestly? That might be the real danger.
He works under Jezzie Bell, who seems to have a lipstick-shaped leash on him. But hey, I’m just the dog. What do I know?
For now, let’s just say this: Macchismo D. is dazzling.
Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen
If Yohanes is the office sparkle of harmless scoop, Dinah is the cold-brew version—strong, bitter, and served with no remorse.
She walks in like she owns the building’s secrets. Black hair sleek as betrayal, snarky eyes, and glasses that serve zero optical purpose but scream “I see everything.” Her dark brown lipstick says “professional,” but her tone says “you’re about to get emotionally audited.”
Dinah doesn’t just spill tea—she serves it pre-scorched. She’s not loud, but when she talks, people lean in… or leave. Because if Dinah says:
“I saw Pete at the store,” you know she’s about to follow it up with something like: “…and the woman he was with wasn’t wearing a ring. Just saying.”
She doesn’t ask questions—she plants landmines.
Nobody really likes Dinah. But nobody wants to be on her radar either. Because if she doesn’t know your dirt… she’ll make some for you.
Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren
Jezzie Bell Morgan doesn’t walk. She glides. Like a well-funded lawsuit in designer heels.
Her red hair? Volcanic. Her lipstick? Same color as danger. Her vibe? “Sign here, sweetheart, and lose your soul in quarterly installments.”
She’s the manager of the Sales department, which basically makes her the queen of convincing people to do things they’ll regret and thank her for afterward. She commands with a smile that says:
“I already know what you’re going to say, and I’ve planned five responses, three bribes, and one perfectly timed sigh.”
Jezzie doesn’t need to raise her voice. She just tilts her head and suddenly Macchismo is nodding like a bobblehead in a sauna.
Her earrings sparkle. Her fingernails point like accusations. And when she says “trust me,” your instincts scream no—but your career prospects whisper yes.
No one’s sure what she wants. But they know not to get in her way.
Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight
Most people in the office don’t pay much attention to Philip Vaughn. He’s listed as Internal Ops Assistant, which is corporate speak for “does everything quietly and without applause.”
He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t insert himself in gossip. He just shows up—early, focused, clean notebook, clean shirt, eyes like he’s reading your soul and your Google search history.
But here’s the part no one really gets: When things go wrong—when Jezzie’s manipulating, Dinah’s detonating, and Macchismo is flexing his moral confusion— Philip steps in. Not loudly. Not dramatically. He just does the right thing like it’s muscle memory.
Word around the breakroom is he’s a war veteran, which makes sense. He’s calm in chaos. Gentle with people. But firm when boundaries are crossed.
He’s got white knight energy—the kind that doesn’t ask for credit. The kind that protects without performance. The kind that doesn’t bow to office power games or ego theatrics.
You’ll probably overlook him. But he’s watching. And if you’re one of the good ones? He’s already in your corner.
Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings
Jasper P. is the intern. You’ll know it the second you meet him—partly because he’ll tell you, and partly because he’ll already be apologizing for something.
He’s got long-ish curly hair, permanently startled eyes, and the overall energy of someone who’s late for a meeting that doesn’t exist.
He talks like a rapper who’s been hit with a mild anxiety attack:
“Yo, yo, my bad, my fault, I was gonna fix that spreadsheet but then I spilled my latte and—uh—Pete slipped on it but he’s fine I think, and also the printer’s making a weird noise?”
Jasper spills coffee, tea, water, information, and vibes. But he means well. And that’s the part that matters.
And every time he spills something (which is… often), Ishmael appears—quietly, mop in hand. Never scolds. Never sighs. Just cleans up.
Jasper may be clumsy. But he’s trying. And that makes him important. Not because he’s perfect—but because he wants to be better.
Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm
Ishmael is… different. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t need to.
He wears an old janitor uniform, faded and clean. Silver hair, quiet eyes, and a beard that says “I’ve seen things, but I’ve forgiven most of them.”
He’s always there. Not in a creepy way—more in a divine timing, slow-motion mop-wielding kind of way.
Someone spills coffee? Ishmael’s already halfway there. Printer explodes? Ishmael’s got a wrench, a rag, and a quote from Proverbs. Jezzie tries to verbally flatten a coworker? Ishmael makes eye contact once, and she forgets her next sentence.
People treat him like just a janitor. But those of us who watch—we know. There’s something about him that feels bigger.
He moves like a man with nothing to prove and everything to teach—if you’re paying attention.
They call him Ishmael the Janitor. But honestly? We don’t know who he really is. Not yet.
And that’s the crew.
Now you know who’s who. So when the drama starts—you won’t get lost.
The real office saga begins in Episode 2. See You! 📡 Totally Made-Up Company Alert:The Signal Co.: Not your internet provider — but we will disconnect your emotional stability. We don’t sell broadband. We sell breakdowns.
MEMO from Horatio T. – Subject: Defamation of Character (aka Gossip Ends Here)
Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess
Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst
Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk
Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason
Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch
Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis
Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen
Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren
Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight
Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings
Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm
Ember - Fire and Soul 