How secret can it be?

I work in a completely mundane state building in downtown Sacramento. We do, however, titillate ourselves with the rumor that the governor has a secret office downstairs that he uses to get away from the press and the politicians at his real office. I don’t think that’s the case, but the wing directly below me is the only set of offices in the building that aren’t in our agency. And my card key works everywhere else in the building (when you work in a new place, you immediately go around to all the staircases to find out if you have roof access, right? And try all the nondescript doors to see if they are locked? And basically pry around until you know how the building works, right?), but not for that wing.

For the California special election, the downstairs wing was full of young pretty sharp dressers who paced aggressively around the courtyard talking very seriously on their cell phones. They didn’t seem to want to talk to those of us who amble around in jeans and make jokes where the punchlines are equations. Then one day I decided I wanted to know who they were, and the fuckers wouldn’t tell me! I asked nicely, “what is this office? Who are you working for?” and the guy who’d made eye contact with me on several occasions said “it’s a secret nuclear facility” and I said, “right, jackass, but what is it?” and they all laughed and didn’t tell me. My bosses couldn’t tell me and I couldn’t find any mention of a secret governor’s office anywhere.

When the special election ended so poorly for the governor, the downstairs wing cleared out. In the past month, young pretty people in pinstripes have reappeared, smoking in the courtyard and talking very seriously on their cell phones. I notice it isn’t any of the same young, pretty people. Maybe one of these ones will tell me what their office is.