Andrew Hernandez, the Mailroom Guy

You've probably grown tired of reading about how everyone on earth is deserving of harsh scorn with the exception of this blog's humble author. Therefore I wish to apprise you of my admiration for the thirtieth floor's Hispanic-American staffer.

His name is Andrew Hernandez. He delivers our mail with great precision. Not once have I received a letter addressed to an associate. Not once has my mail reached my inbox later than 9:30 a.m.

Though attractive and socially functional, Andrew is a self-described geek. He knows computers, loves science fiction, can discuss the most obscure independent film, as well as the most popular situation comedy.

Andrew would be more aesthetically appealing if he'd shed a hunk of belly fat. Though it's the location most men carry excess weight, Andrew's gut is unusually burdened. If he laid off the fried cheese and shaved away the patchy goatee Andrew could introduce himself as a fashion model.

Andrew doesn't ask for help with his personal electronic machines, he waits for me to offer my services. As I explain exactly how I can enhance his video game console, the lighting up of his eyes is a reaction that gives me great pleasure.

When offered, he brings the devices to my office so I can tinker while enjoying a turkey sandwich with a side of baked snack crackers.

Morally, Andrew and I are twins. We take equal pride in office performance. His penchant for spending every spare ounce of time and money on useless gadgetry separates us.

Emails to his mother are often pleas for help with paying the rent, most sent seconds after he ordered what gaming pundits have labeled, "The hottest video game of the century!"

As I disclosed earlier, everyone in the squadron, including Andrew Hernandez, must accept his or her share of bad luck. But, unlike his coworkers, post ill-fated incident, Mr. Hernandez's money struggles are somewhat alleviated.

In fact, just last week he failed to timely deliver an urgent letter addressed to President Daniel Patel.

To make up for the headache for which I was directly responsible, I overbid on a trunk full of items Andrew had posted for auction online. Speaking of, does anybody have an empty mantel on which twenty previously owned Atari 2600 joysticks would look great?

Rarely leaving the town painted red, I categorize monies used to further my reign of terror as entertainment related expenses.

I felt the reward was vital due to the lengthy and boisterous tongue-lashing dealt to Andrew by Mr. Patel's assistant, a hot-tempered, husky woman loathed by all.