The Great Whiteboard Conspiracy

Brenda, our new team lead, practically vibrated with corporate energy. "Team," she announced, "we're lacking *synergy*! We need *ideation*! To foster this, I've installed a communal whiteboard for spontaneous thought-dumping!" The whiteboard, a gleaming behemoth, loomed large. For a week, it remained pristine, save for a single doodle of a disgruntled pigeon wearing a tiny tie.

Then Kevin arrived. Our new intern was earnest, bright-eyed, and took everything *literally*.

Tuesday, Brenda scrawled: "Leverage our core competencies!"

Wednesday, Kevin had meticulously drawn a diagram: a giant lever, balanced precariously on a stack of office chairs, attempting to hoist a tiny, sweating computer. Underneath: "Core competencies leveraged."

Thursday, Brenda, exasperated, wrote: "Think outside the box!"

Friday, Kevin's contribution was a detailed architectural plan for a new office building made entirely of recycled pizza boxes, complete with a tiny "outside-the-box" garden where actual kale sprouted.

The final straw came when Brenda, desperate for a solution, wrote in large, stressed letters: "Help me brainstorm!"

Monday morning, the entire whiteboard was covered. Not with ideas, but with intricate scientific diagrams of the human brain. Arrows pointed to various lobes, each labeled with a question mark. At the bottom, in Kevin's immaculate hand: "Brainstorming apparatus requires further specification for optimal cranial engagement. Current cerebral activity appears localized."

Brenda stared. "Kevin," she squeaked.

"Yes, Brenda?" Kevin beamed, clutching a neuroscience textbook. "I've been reviewing the limbic system, but I need clarification on which specific neural pathways you require assistance in generating 'storms' within."

The office went silent. Then a snort. Then a giggle. Soon, the entire department was in hysterics. Brenda, for her part, simply walked away and quietly ordered a corkboard. For "pins."