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Because of the current resounding silence about the Shocking Scandal surrounding Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter (he did... something or other), we've asked our Prime Conde Nast Operative to file a rigorously-reported slice of what life is like on the inside. Contains exclusive interview with Vanity Fair receptionist!!!

Today I entered the office a little late, like 10 minutes ago, because honestly it just doesn't matter anymore after this Graydongate thing exploded. Show up to work, don't show up to work, it doesn't matter. Rules have never been a priority here...our boss is Canadian. Actually, there was that no-smoking rule for a while but that lasted about as long as the line at the dessert tray at the cafeteria. Now each morning those elevator doors open onto the minimalist white lobby of the VF offices (whose walls have, as of late, turned a light yellow hue) and I have to push through a cloud of smoke. Even the receptionist is smoking.

I stop to talk to her and bum a Parliament (they're always a Philip Morris brand, Graydon gets them sent in bulk for free from the tobacco giant. I don't get it, I mean, he can afford to buy his own cigarettes right?)

Me: More smoke than usual today
Receptionist: Yeah
Me: So how much trouble do you think he's in, on a scale of 1 to 10?
Receptionist: For what?
Me: You know... for the whole Graydongate thing?
Receptionist: It's bad. SoHo House took his membership away, and he's in talks with the Weinsteins about being cast as Michael Myers in their upcoming Halloween 9, poor guy needs something to fall back on.
Me: Scary. Alright, I'm going home, just wanted to swipe my card so I got attendance today.