Our office is a huge Victorian mansion: a basement, two floors, an attic with secrets and an observatory. Yes, it’s on the moon, rent is cheap, and there’s no problem with parking.
Immediately at the entrance to the hall there is a skeleton of a prehistoric capybara, we do not know where, it has always been here. To the left, down to the basement, there is a boiler room, a billiard room and the office of Count Promotakula, from there you can hear the screech of dial-up modems, the Count has a weakness for vintage equipment.
There are living rooms on the first floor, and the second is given over to open space, but we don’t call it that, because if a random asteroid breaks through the protective dome, then there will be open space, and this is just a workplace. There is also a training field for petanque, all Moonrover employees are fans of this most popular game on the Moon, but there are no others here.
When it’s time for payouts at the end of the month, we go down the fire pole, under the wailing of the fog sirens, and in the flickering of lilac lamps, because payments should not be delayed even for a second.
The office kitchen has a large séance table to communicate with Edgar Allan Poe and other spirits. You think it is full of dishes and glasses, but it’s not. Any food left on the spiritualistic table becomes the prey of insatiable spirits. One of our employees used to feed pizza sides to the spirit of Sigmund Freud, so we then did not know how to get rid of his psychoanalytic whining.
A rope ladder leads to the attic, you can climb the usual one, but where is your inner child? Ancient offers are stored in chests here, it’s so nice to sort through them on long moonlit evenings, oh, those good old pay-per-clicks, registration fees in mobile games, of the past days when the world was simpler.
A little further on is the observatory of our staff astronomer and psychologist. The telescope is always pointed at the constellation Cygnus and woe to the one who moves it away from the intimate life of gas clouds. However, this still happens all the time, because Baz Aldrin points the telescope to the ground and looks longingly at his home state, where his girlfriend is left. Now she is 67, and she never considered herself Aldrin’s girlfriend.
These are the main sights of our office, and with this we conclude our virtual tour. In fact, the moonrover mansion is huge, and who knows what other secrets it holds.
