Sorry, ❤️ Carrie
A supernatural office comedy about stress, self-control, and the one coworker who literally breaks everything.
Overview
Logline: A grown-up Carrie White just wants a quiet office job — but every time she gets stressed, the printers explode, the lights flicker, and the coffee machine dies. In this mockumentary-style vertical comedy, supernatural chaos meets corporate dysfunction — and “I’m fine” is the biggest lie she tells herself every day.
Premise: Sorry, ❤️ Carrie reimagines one of horror’s most iconic outcasts as a woman in recovery — from trauma, therapy, and onboarding. Now she works in middle management, clinging to routine, HR policies, and bad coffee while her telekinetic energy keeps short-circuiting the building. Her coworkers become accidental accomplices and emotional mirrors: the immaculate Camille, the unbothered Benji, the Stevie Nicks HR queen Maya, panicked intern Jules, gym-bro trigger Todd, content-obsessed Lexi, and the unnervingly calm CEO, Mr. Holland.
Each 2-minute vertical episode captures one tiny corporate moment pushed to supernatural breaking point: a presentation glitch, a printer breakdown, an “Oops, sorry” waterfall from the water cooler. Alone, they’re shareable bursts of chaos; together, they form the story of a woman slowly learning that maybe she doesn’t have to apologize for existing.
Vertical Identity: The phone-sized frame traps Carrie like her own energy does. The viewer feels like a nosy coworker filming for Reels — too close to look away, too entertained to stop scrolling.
Characters
Carrie is our emotional anchor and chaos engine in one person. She’s stunning, kind, and painfully self-aware — the coworker who always over-prepares and still ends up surrounded by broken tech. She has spent decades trying to be “normal,” which in practice means breathing exercises in stairwells and pretending the printers aren’t afraid of her.
Emotional function: the fault line between control and collapse; she embodies the fear that our feelings are “too much” — and the possibility that they’re actually power.
Trigger word: Voltage
Camille treats the office like a mildly amusing art installation. Boarding schools, ivy-laced lineage, and a Rolodex of people who could buy the company twice — she doesn’t need this job, but she does enjoy controlling it. Her affection for Carrie arrives wrapped in withering commentary and a gold bracelet.
Emotional function: the embodiment of control; she’s Carrie’s mirror opposite and secret protector, the person who steps in when chaos needs a lawyer.
Trigger word: Silk
Benji is first-gen, tech-brained, and accidentally fashionable. He loves gear with too many pockets and has no idea he’s a style icon. His fridge is mysteriously always full, courtesy of his mom, and his idea of boundaries is telling Carrie, “I’ll help this time, but if the router levitates again, I’m staging an intervention.”
Emotional function: rational ballast; he keeps the show from drifting into pure magic by insisting there’s a logical explanation… right up until there isn’t.
Trigger word: Circuit
Maya truly believes in “aligning the office aura.” She hosts sound baths for burnout, writes affirmations on the whiteboard, and interprets every catastrophic glitch as “a release of stuck energy.” She thinks Carrie is a gifted empath, not a walking EMP.
Emotional function: false calm; she spiritualizes Carrie’s breakdowns, often making them bigger by encouraging her to “feel it all.”
Trigger word: Aura
Jules is soft, earnest, and absolutely unprepared. He believes in hustle and LinkedIn quotes until Carrie’s energy field introduces him to floating espresso. He tries to quit at least once per arc, but something (or the elevator) always pulls him back.
Emotional function: audience surrogate; his panic mirrors exactly what we’d feel watching this office from afar.
Trigger word: Static
Todd is aggressively confident and aggressively unaware. He calls everyone “champ,” thinks HR loves him, and interprets every power outage as “Mercury or whatever.” He’s convinced Carrie is into him. She is, in fact, trying not to set the fire sprinklers off in his general direction.
Emotional function: walking catalyst; he is the human embodiment of everything Carrie is desperately trying not to react to.
Trigger word: Spark
Lexi runs social and vibes. She documents every glitch, meltdown, and sprinkler incident as “brand storytelling,” accidentally turning Carrie into an office myth and micro-celebrity. She means well. Mostly. Kind of.
Emotional function: digital chorus; she refracts Carrie’s private chaos into public narrative and viral legend.
Trigger word: Glow
Mr. Holland is the only one who never seems surprised. He glides through catastrophe like he’s seen it before — because he has. He hired Carrie on purpose and might be quietly studying her as the ultimate “human-energy experiment,” or he might just find her delightful. Either way, when he says “Oh, Carrie…,” it’s both warning and blessing.
Emotional function: calm conductor; he legitimizes Carrie’s existence and hints that her power is not a bug, but a feature.
Trigger word: Current
Episodes & Arc Map
Format: 50 × 2-minute vertical episodes, structured as five arcs of ten episodes each. Every micro-episode is a tiny pressure cooker — setup, emotional spike, kinetic glitch, apology, reset.
Arc I — The Arrival (Eps 1–10)
Theme: Containment. Carrie arrives determined to be normal. The printers, however, disagree. Small malfunctions stack: jammed copiers, flickering lights, suspiciously sentient coffee machine. Everyone blames the building; Benji starts quietly tracking “Carrie proximity.”
Arc II — The Pressure (Eps 11–20)
Theme: Denial. HR adds meditation. Todd adds winks. Lexi adds hashtags. Carrie doubles down on looking “fine” while the office tech behaves like a haunted escape room. Jules develops a permanent flinch.
Arc III — The Glitch (Eps 21–30)
Theme: Exposure. Benji’s diagnostics accidentally capture Carrie’s energy field on video. Mr. Holland sees it and smiles like he’s been waiting. The phrase “statistical anomaly” gets used a lot. The phrase “witch” gets used quietly in Slack.
Arc IV — The Meltdown (Eps 31–40)
Theme: Loss of Control. Lexi’s content goes viral. The office becomes “that place from TikTok.” Carrie tries to feel nothing, which — shockingly — doesn’t work. Emotions she suppresses come out in bigger storms; Camille and Benji build a triage system around her.
Arc V — The Acceptance (Eps 41–50)
Theme: Reclamation. Project files reveal Mr. Holland knew about her history. Instead of running, Carrie leans in. With help from Benji, Camille, and even Maya, she learns to direct the current instead of fear it. The chaos isn’t gone — it’s finally hers.
Visual Style
Palette — “Kinetic Blush” (Locked):
- Burnt Blush — emotional heat, Carrie’s cheeks when things go sideways.
- Electric Taupe — beige office calm that never quite holds.
- Static Lavender — psychic shimmer during kinetic moments.
- Charcoal Ink — tech realism; monitors, cables, and coffee stains.
- Gold Flicker — the Hive shimmer: empathy, humor, and a little magic.
Camera Grammar: vertical, handheld mockumentary. The camera behaves like a slightly nosy coworker: too close in confessionals, a little late to the disaster, always catching Carrie’s “Oops” on the tail end.
Signature Moves:
- The Static Drift: when Carrie’s emotions spike, the frame subtly drifts toward her, as if pulled by a magnetic field.
- Chaos Holds: three-second beats after a glitch, where no one moves, no one breathes, and then someone mutters, “Carrie…”
Sound Signature:
- A soft flicker hum under tense scenes.
- A tiny metallic “oops chime” just before something breaks.
- Maya’s HR sound bowl as a recurring comedy sting.
Marketing & Hive Positioning
Category: Vertical mockumentary comedy. Tone line: Workplace absurdity meets supernatural charm.
Tagline Grid:
- Core: “Every office has that one employee who breaks everything.”
- Hive: “Electric empathy. Glowing chaos.”
- Character: “Oops. Sorry.”
- Binge Hook: “Watch her try to stay calm. Fifty times.”
Why it lives vertically: The show feels like found footage from the world’s most cursed office. Viewers experience it as coworkers in the group chat — “you will not believe what happened on the 4th floor today” — instead of distant TV spectators.
Hive Brand Fit: Absolutely Becky is champagne chaos, Salem Shadows is operatic intrigue, and Sorry, ❤️ Carrie is corporate kinetic — the comedy cousin that turns burnout and emotional overload into a shimmering, shareable myth.