"I think," Sam says carefully, "that if the president wants to fire us, he'll do it whether or not we've got perfect attendance. As it stands, we can't dial out and we can't leave so I don't think anyone would begrudge us a little champagne and stress relief."

Sam stretches, lifting his arms above his head and arching his back to pop it. There's tension all the way down and he just thinks it's going to get worse the longer he's stuck in an Eagles song.