SOMETIMES, reality is a bitch, you know? Say your day goes like this: First, you sleep through your alarm. Then you cut yourself while shaving (your face, leg, whatever). Your gas tank is dangerously low, but you don't have time to stop. So you coast to work on fumes and then can't find a spot to park. You end up on the street, stuffing odd coins in a meter. Then the day progresses: Your boss reminds you to put a cover sheet on your TPS report (see "Office Space," 1999 and page 22), you eat a Snickers bar for lunch, you doze through the afternoon and just as you're getting ready to leave, your boss gives you a project that has to be in by tomorrow morning.