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Compared to what usually happens here, the lobby of the eleventh floor is, at this moment, a beehive of activity.
There are six people in one corner assembling a huge desk. They are all regular employees, desk jockeys that have never touched a tool in their lives, not construction workers. I can tell the desk is not of the simple IKEA-build-it-yourself kind since one of them is holding several large pieces of paper with assembly instructions on both sides that seem to require a PhD to even read them properly. These people use desks all day, which doesn't mean they know how to build one. The result will be predictably crappy.
Over at the secretary's desk, Little Bernie is hushing into the phone, completely oblivious to what is going on around him. His elbows are resting on the keyboard, possibly flattening the keys into thin slices of grey plastic, and he doesn't seem to notice. I wonder if he is supposed to be the new secretary, or what.
Standing next to Little Bernie there is Eddie, arguing loudly about some report with Ted and a woman I don't know. Behind them, two construction workers are doing something undescribable to the door. Torturing it probably, your usual cleanse-of-past-sins routine.
There is a second group of people standing close to the other side of the secretary's desk, two men I don't know, Jordan, and ... is that Sally?
Next to them, a man dressed with a three-piece suit is silently sweeping the floor, moving slowly. Every once in a while he looks up and looks at the people around him with something bordering on fear.
Madness. The world turned upside down.
Jordan sees me and smiles. I smile back and I walk to where Eddie, Ted and the woman are standing.
Hey, I say.
Oh, Hi, says Ted. Eddie nods at me, a serious look on his eyes that says, I'm a Manager now, kneel before me! The woman simply ignores me.
Weweretalking abouttheStrategicReports, says Eddie.
Plan B? I say.
So youknowaboutit? He says, suddenly interested, and I'm not sure why, since I know he knows I know.
I've ... heard of it..., I say.
We have been looking for it, if you know where it is it would be really really helpful, Ted says in a strange quasi-friendly tone that doesn't really suit him.
I can see now that Ted The Snake is gone, replaced by Ted The Sycophant. I'm not sure which one I like best.
I ignore Ted's comment, I look around me and I say, What a mess.
Mess? Eddie says.
Ted lets out a forced chuckle and says, Uh-Oh! Here it comes!
Sorry, I say. As Eddie smiles at seeing his newfound power in action, I continue, Let me rephrase that.
I say, What a fucking mess.
Eddie's smile vanishes.
I don't think that kind of language is appropriate at the office, he says, slowing down his speech to normal speed to make his point.
Really? I say, Since when? You used to curse all the time.
It's ... different now, he says uncomfortably.
I say, Is it?
Oh yeah, he says.
Well, La-di-dah! I say.
Eddie is about to say something when suddenly there's a creaking sound, and I turn around just in time to see the desk collapse into a heap of wood and metal.
Eddie says, Excuse me, then he walks to the group of people that are now staring at the remains of the desk with a puzzled look and starts screaming at them.
I feel a touch on my shoulder. I turn. Jordan.
Coffee? She says.
Yeah, I say.
Ted says, hopeful, Can I go too?
Jordan and I look at each other, then at him, and we say in unison, No.
The elevator bell rings.
Come on! I say, and we walk in just before the doors close, leaving behind the mayhem and the noise, and The New Eddie, and The New Ted... and I wonder...
Why do some people succumb so easily to what they are supposed to be? Is it a genetic trait? Environmental? Or is it just plain idiocy?
Does it matter?
A rarity. I ask myself a rethorical question and the answer pops inside my head immediately, unambiguous.
No.
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6:07:07 PM 
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