Page 16 of Break Room
Monologue finished cleaning and moved to the narrow space between the fridge and the wall, reaching for something hidden there. To my surprise, it was the cleaning checklist, the one that had been on the fridge door on the first day. Tumbler had examined it, flipping it over and holding it up to the light as if it might hold a secret. Apparently, Monologue had tucked it away here, out of sight.
From his apron packet, Monologue pulled out a thick pen and began marking the checklist with rapid, deliberate strokes. I glanced at the sheet from the side and was engulfed by an icy wave of unease – it was covered entirely in X marks. Why? What did it mean? Why would someone go to the trouble of marking every single task with an X?
I realised Monologue was crossing out the boxes next to everyone’s name except his own; these, he had filled with bold circles. I felt his pen pressed harder against the paper when he marked the others’ names with an X – though perhaps that was just my imagination. I almost asked, ‘Wouldn’t most people ask others to help with cleaning, or at least leave the boxes of those who didn’t help blank rather than marking them with crosses?’
As if reading my mind, Monologue stopped mid-mark and turned towards me.
‘Oh, almost forgot!’ he said lightly, flashing a quick smile. And he changed a few of the Xs next to my name for today’s cleaning tasks into Os. At that moment, I felt as though I was watching the exact mechanism by which he had gradually alienated himself from others – through these subtle, almost imperceptible misunderstandings. The sincerityin his movements, juxtaposed with the unintended missteps that betrayed his intentions, left no room for doubt in my mind.
I instinctively knew – there was no way this was an act.
Yet, when Friday evening arrived, and it was time to officially submit my guess for the mole, I wrote down Monologue as my final answer, after much internal debate.
Still, a quiet, desperate thought lingered in the back of my mind: I wished that someone – anyone – would pick me as the mole. Just once, I wanted to be seen as something other than ‘the weird one’.
CHAPTER
Ten
To reveal the underwhelming ending: the mole turned out to be Cake, and only two people guessed correctly – Tumbler and Coffee Mix. I had a fleeting curiosity about why Tumbler and Cake hadn’t submitted the same answer, but with filming wrapped, it no longer seemed to matter.
Two months later,Break Roombegan airing every Friday night at 10pm. Watching myself on screen felt strange – uncomfortable, even – but to my surprise, I actually enjoyed the show. Seeing the events from an outsider’s perspective, complete with footage of what had happened behind my back, was surreal. They say the closer you are to something, the harder it is to see the full picture, and I could have never anticipated the show would come together as it did.
What stood out most was a segment featuring Coffee Mix’s parents, their faces fully revealed in a video interview. They spoke warmly about their daughter, emphasising how they’d always supported her emotionally and financially. Her ‘mild collecting tendencies’, as they called them, had started as early as elementary school, but they adamantly denied any association to some deep underlying trauma.
After the interview, what followed was a comedic montage highlighting Coffee Mix’s minor hoarding habits. The editors played up the humour, cutting together clips of her collecting small items up to ten times a day, set to upbeat background music. They were cleverly juxtaposed with deadpan interviews from family and friends throwing around jargon in an effort to explain her behaviour. The absurd contrast, combined with shots of Coffee Mix blissfully sipping coffee or munching on snacks, turned the segment into unintentional comedy gold.
Meanwhile, Tumbler, early in the game, leaned into the camera and whispered with conviction that Cake didn’t have ‘the face of someone who can’t hide her true feelings’, but instead ‘the face of a master deceiver’. (This moment wascleverly highlighted as a teaser for episode two.) With great fervour, he launched into an analysis of the facial features and expressions of so-called environmental activists who seek investments under the pretence of eco-friendly ventures but are, in truth, dishonest. In a heated tirade to the camera, he listed all the reasons why Cake had to be the mole, pointing to her facial features as ‘evidence’ – features that, amusingly, bore a striking resemblance to his own. The editors didn’t miss the comedic opportunity, juxtaposing close-ups of Tumbler and Cake side by side, adding a dose of irony and perfectly breaking the tension.
Despite correctly identifying Cake as the mole quite early on, Tumbler played the game skilfully. He put on a false front when interacting with her, even scheming to cast a fake vote for Coffee Mix to throw her off the scent. From the start, his personal interest in Cake appeared non-existent, and – whether fortunately or unfortunately – it seemed the feeling was mutual.
The show also revealed how Monologue had accumulated hints: he had been stashing personal cleaning supplies in the break room’s communal cabinets, and throwing away leftover food that others had saved for later, presumably to reduce clutter or as part of his cleaning routine. (Whether these actions were intentional or unintentional remained unclear.)
One of the most-debated elements of the show became Monologue’s cleaning checklist. Online forums exploded with discussions about whether it was fair for him to have earned a hint card by marking Xs next to the other players’ names to imply they hadn’t fulfilled their cleaning duties.
Some viewers argued: ‘If he cleaned, marking an O for his own name would’ve been enough. Crossing off others feels passive-aggressive – it’s basic social etiquette to avoid unnecessary conflict.’
Others countered: ‘It’s just a system to show who cleaned and who didn’t. If the checklist offends you, maybe you should becast in the next season of the show!’
Beyond that, the scenes of each player revealing their pick for the mole were cleverly edited, intercut with flashbacks of their actions leading up to their choices, and revisiting key moments throughout the duration of filming to show how each person came to their own conclusion, adding an extra layer of fun.
The inner turmoil I’d experienced while filming didn’t make it on to the screen at all. There were brief shots of my face that captured fragments of my emotions, but my distress had clearly been overlooked by the editor, leaving me relegated to the background – little more than part of the set-dressing.
I was grateful that my internal struggles weren’t visible on screen, yet I couldn’t help but wonder whether, in all the reality shows I’d watched in the past, had I ever truly seen the truth of what was happening? Or was I only ever seeing what someone had wanted me to see?
After the success ofBreak Roomand the buzz surrounding the show, my coworkers started coming up to me, saying how much they’d enjoyed the show and offering their apologies for nominating me. They claimed they had ‘misunderstood’ me. I almost wanted to respond, ‘That’s not what we call “misunderstanding”,’ but I held my tongue. Instead, I told them I’d been inspired by the antics of A and B, which had helped me earn the hint cards – a line I thought was a good joke. But they didn’t laugh.
I wasn’t sure which moment made me feel more pathetic – when my joke fell flat, or when I watched Monologue in the final episode, writing his own name on the answer sheet and muttering, ‘I’m enough as I am,’ as though trying to console himself.
A few months after the show aired, rumours began swirling that the production team had already begun their recruitment process for contestants for season two. In the meantime, amobile game based onBreak Roomwas under development, with a release date fast approaching. Social media was buzzing with posts looking for beta testers:
We’re hiring beta testers for the gameBreak Room!
Find the mole, make a mess in the break room and complete secret missions that only open at night.
What kind of villains have you met in your break room?
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