Here at Digital Mirage Entertainment, nothing is more important to us than good, tight quality assurance. That's why we had nearly one full-time guy on staff to playtest our latest game: His name was Jake. Jake was the curious sort. Played a lot of live-action Vampire. Loved SCA. Would occasionally wear a cloak to work and proudly showed off how he had his D&D 3rd edition book rebound in a waterproof cover "In case we play another game down in the sewers." Nice guy and all, Jake, although the Cap'n Crunch that was spilled all over his desk and cubicle floor was a little annoying. Especially the way it would crunch under his chair. Still, when you're making an RPG game, Jake is exactly the guy you want testing your game balance. If there was an exploit, Jake would find it.

Sometimes he would threaten the programmers with a broadsword.

Anyways, three weeks ago Jake quit in order to move to Alaska and raise sled dogs. This was a pretty scary time in the programming department -- we didn't know how we could continue making our game without good Quality Assurance from the only man anal enough to notice that we'd incorrectly modeled the Pembroke helm. After a few tense days Murray, our programming lead, called a special conference.

"The search for a new QA guy hasn't gone well," Murray explained. "And times are hard, so if management discovers that we've gotten along without Quality Assurance for a whole week, they may cut that position out of the budget entirely." At this, the whole room rumbled in a panic. "No no! Settle down, we'll make it through this," he told everyone. "I had the foresight to not actually show them Jake's resignation. As far as they know, he still works here."

We shifted uncomfortably in our seats as that news sunk in and waited for the plan.

"We need only to ensure that they continue to think Jake is an employee for the duration of the crisis, until we manage to find a replacement," Murray continued. "Right! So, here's the action plan: Dan, buy some Cap'n Crunch and scatter it around his cubicle periodically. Bryan, I want you to randomly scatter around his notes and paperwork every morning. Pete, be sure to throw all of your old lunch wrappers into Jake's wastebasket."

"But what about Jake himself?" I protested. "Surely they'll notice he's not walking in every morning!"

Holding back a smirk, Murray strolled over to a man-sized object in the corner, covered in a sheet. He unfurled it with a proud snap of the wrists: "See here, I've purchased an entire suit of platemail armor!" Murray said with a flourish. "We'll simply rotate who comes in in the armor every morning. Steve, Mondays it's all you. Bryan? Tuesdays. I'll come in Wendesday, and so on and so on."

"In fact," Murray continued, muffling our protests. "The salary that we would be paying Jake is all going toward a perverse assortment of strange medieval clothes, swords, and helmets designed to obscure the face. Management won't know the difference."

Several of us were opposed to the plan, but Murray rose to his full imposing height and slammed a palm down on the conference room table. "I'm the boss!" he boomed. "Now put on the helmet!"

Anyways, since today is Tuesday, well, here I am. I can barely see a thing, but I believe that I am, in fact, sitting in Jake's cubicle. I can't type in these gauntlets, so I'm just staring at the latest build of our game. Which reminds me. Do you know how hard it is to go to the bathroom in this? I didn't think so.