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Sometimes I think about what a future archeologist would be able to infer of the times we live in. The modern office, with disposable chairs, fabric-covered cardboard cubicle walls, recyclable paper. I always come up with the same answer: nothing.
There will be nothing left. No office per se, since space is easily, quote, retargetable, unquote. No utensils. No paper. If the massive data storage center where all of humanity will end up storing and stealing information were to crash and destroy itself, no digital information will be left either. It will be as if our society stopped evolving after the 1920s. That our vast repositories of digital information will never disappear you say? Pfft. They will be running Windows 2040, so count on it. The precariousness of our existence will be exposed by the very thing that will prove it: a house of cards built on technology built by the lowest bidder.
Oh well, at least the archaeologists will have the pyramids to play with. If our present is precarious, at least our past is not.
It is this precariousness that Eddie rams into when he loses balance into the tenth minute of his in-place run. He falls to the side, onto a cubicle wall, and takes it down with him. The gun lands a few feet away from him it doesn't go off, something I find to be borderline miraculous. This is not what movies tell us after all.
As Eddie and the wall behind him land on the carpet I fear for the structural integrity of the cubicle. An image flashes through my mind: rescue crews, emergency crews, CNN, all standing around a mountain of cubicle-rubble, dogs sniffing for survivors.
In an unrelated development, I suddenly realize that I am hungry. Very hungry.
Survival. What a concept. Contrary to what most people think, it has nothing to do with being able to breathe, as Eddie's behavior can prove to anyone who was here to see it.
Eddie, who stands up and hurriedly grabs the gun again, pointing it back at us in fear even though neither Ted or me have moved an inch.
Precariousness can surface quickly as well. After I started up the elevators again, and Jordan's attempt of an explanation, I ran out of the security room, to the elevator. Waited impatiently for the numbers to move down, then got up here.
I entered the floor, trying to be as silent as I could, which isn't saying much, but Eddie came out of the cubicle a second later pointing the gun at me and told me to walk to him, slowly. I walked, slowly. Then he told me to kneel on the floor. I kneeled. He taped my hands.
Then he pressed the gun to my head.
Now he's looking at me again, shaken up by his sudden collapse into reality a second ago, and I stay silent.
YouwerelookingforTed? He says.
We've been over this, I say.
He looks down at the gun, and says, Hhmm.
I can see now that if I didn't convince him, at least I managed to confuse him. Confusing people is as good as convincing them, as history has proven.
Now Jordan has to come up with something good, and fast. Otherwise I'll need some kind of Bruce Willis-like stunt to get out of here.
And I know one thing for sure: I'm not Bruce Willis.
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4:27:00 PM 
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