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I know what we need to do.
We must have patience.
Now that's something radical. We have gotten so used to things like around-the-clock-news, just-in-time delivery, fast-food, and other hyper-hyphenated word constructs that we seem to have forgotten that good things usually take time.
I had forgotten it, at any rate.
And speaking of Patience.
After our printing excercise, I take Mark for a walk around the office. Not that we haven't already done it, but he seems to like it so much that I thought, What the hell. As we walk through the cubicles, he appears to be thrilled, starry-eyed as before, as if he was six years old and this was his first visit to Disneyland.
A little overeager, if you ask me. While we walk, I wonder where Jordan is. The security room, she said. I should go down there and see what's happening, but first I need to get rid of Mark. If only Ted was around...
Who's that? Mark says, pointing ahead, at Little Bernie, who is walking in our direction, hungry eyes looking down at a gigantic sandwich he's carrying, holding it so carefully that it would seem to be made of gold.
Monkeys point, I say.
Mark lowers his hand and looks down, embarrased. Sorry, he says.
Sorry is not enough, I say, Drop to the floor and give me twenty.
What? Mark says.
Twenty pushups, I say, stone-faced.
There isn't even a moment of doubt in Mark's eyes, that instant of hesitation that would indicate that he's trying to figure out if I'm joking or not. Even worse, there is no flash of common sense that tells him that I must be joking and therefore he should laugh.
There isn't any of that.
He simply drops down and starts doing the pushups, counting out loud: One! Two! Three!
Oh, God.
Who is this guy?
Four! Five! Six! Seven!
Eddie jumps in front of us from within a cubicle as is his style, coffee mug in hand, face serious. Howarethings? he says. He looks down at Mark, and nods approvingly.
Eight! Nine! Ten! Eleven!
There is strain in Mark's voice already.
I say to Eddie, Well, I think Mark here made a mistake. Or did you tell him this was the set of Full Metal Jacket?
Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!
Eddie ignores my comment and says, This is good for morale.
Sixteen! Sev--enteen! Eigh--teen! Nine--teen! Tw----enty!
I think, Morale?
Mark stands up briskily, pretending not to be exhausted, slapping his hands against his pants.
How areyoudoing? Eddie says to Mark.
Grrreat! Mark says, an ear-to-ear smile plastered on his face. We were...
So where is Ted? I ask, interrupting him. The last thing I want to hear is a description of how Mark thought that doing pushups was a good idea, or even worse, of all the boring things we just did.
He'sdoing somethingimportant, Eddie says.
Where?
It's important, Eddie repeats.
Where? I say, getting impatient.
Eddie answers, finally.
The bathroom.
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6:29:05 PM 
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