Pretext - February 22

Frankfurt International Airport - Frankfurt, Germany

The noise is deafening. It’s an assault coming from all directions, and in this environment it’s hard to tell where it’s all coming from. Within the short span of 2 minutes, there have been coughing fits from all directions, some triggering multiple times within seconds, others stoping to reload under cover. A few heavy sneeze bombs have been deployed and the safe route to rally point Delta Gate is foggy. Proactive measures now need to be taken.

The bag is empty of government-issued (or Amazon-purchased) N95 masks. Not that they would do much good. They are glorified cotton face panties, although I’m sure at some point a pair of granny panties probably saved someone in dire need of a tent or something. But the point is I need to navigate this minefield unprotected. I’m prepared to hunker down if necessary. I have rations of nuts and water packs that will keep me alive for several…well, at least 3 hours.

I exit rally point Comfy Chair, a name meant to confuse anyone trying to figure out where I would be, because Frankfurt Airport has more than 2,000 chairs, but not a single one is comfortable. I choose to walk along the flank which is somewhat exposed and filled with common-folk, but the screaming children and homeless-looking backpackers provide radiation cover. They are each probably carrying a few dozen contaminants that could neutralize the virus.

From this direction I can move behind and past the border where all the locals are lined up to fly in coach. I’ll be safe if I can avoid interaction and reach the priority boarding line.

I scan my path. Ugh. There’s a toll booth right in the middle. Completely unavoidable. I’m going to need to stop. Ein Frankfurter und Wasser ohne Gas…bitte. It’s Frankfurt. How are you not going to eat a frankfurter in the city where it got its name? What if there’s something particularly special about how they are made or taste? What if the water used to boil them in Frankfurt is special, like they say it is in NYC, but without all the pollution? Euros paid, I am handed a glorious hotdog topped with crunchy something (either onions or potatoes, maybe both) and pointed to the three condiment dispensers dangling from the top of the booth. Why do I need to do it this way? This is not where I should be learning this process. I drink milk, but I don’t have to walk out and yank a teat to do this. I’m too aggressive with my first touch of the mayonnaise, so a blob flies out and splatters on the counter. Natives have noticed I’m not a local. A quick squirt of whatever is hanging and evacuate the area immediately. Not ideal, but dry hotdog threat neutralized. Rush to rally point Delta Gate.

Safely onboard the evacuation vehicle, I strap into my seat still a bit tense. There’s a long voyage ahead. The only thing separating me from a possibly, yet highly unlikely, infected basic economy fare passenger is a thin blue curtain…the cotton face panties of the airline world. But at least here I can close my eyes and rest in the warmth of the Saks Fifth Avenue-branded blanket I will later steal, and under the darkness of the mask in my complimentary Star Wars co-branded travel kit.

Somewhere over Canada

Containment Breach!!! Some economy fare savage has opened the curtain and walked right into our space. He’s not even wearing shoes, just some nasty-looking protective socks that probably outperforms Lysol in killing 99.9% of bacteria on contact. I’m not sure how Odor-Eater insoles work, but if they are using cloud technology, these socks are where they all send their funk for safe keeping. The second sock is probably the redundant odor keeper to the first. Shit…this could be the beginning of the end.

Day 1 - February 25

Undisclosed Bunker near Chick-fil-a

Late yesterday afternoon I was advised the President wants me quarantined. Have I been compromised? Have I unknowingly compromised others? The virus could spread through the environment like wildfire. On Monday I seduce Mustang Sally into a seconds-long tryst of passionate hug. On Tuesday morning I shake hands with Marlington and Old Greg, which probably won’t go anywhere because no one shakes hands with either of them. I also seduce Latina Lacey like I did Mustang Sally, because let’s be honest, my hair is amazing and I’m just that good.

From here, over the next week, the virus and migrate from the annex to Corporate Town, bubbling up through the people until it reaches the very top of the ivory tower. And then…sneeze. A flu-like virus. I just flicked the first domino, like a booger at my 1st grade teacher. Were they too late to stop me?

While I am in hiding, I must prepare for the long haul. Medical supplies? Advil and Tylenol on hand, one bottle each. Rubbing alcohol for sterilization, if needed? Check. Sewing kit for emergencies? Yes, with thread to stitch myself in various colors for camouflaging purposes. Internet access to watch YouTube videos on DIY surgery? As long as the neighbors keep paying their bill, we’re good. Alcohol for sterilization, if needed? No. But I’ve got a few bottles of rum, vodka, grappa, schnapps, and Scotch available for drinking.

I’ve checked the perimeter and things seem pretty safe at the moment. Wait, nope. The deadbolt just fell out of the door somehow. Ugh, freaking maintenance crew here does some ghetto stuff. The rest of the perimeter is safe…more or less. Probably less more than more. For example, I tend not to lock the balcony door because I don’t think squirrels have figured out how to open it.

I should probably check the rest of this bunker.

Day 3 - February 27

Undisclosed Bunker near Taco Nation

I forgot to write yesterday. I had a ton of work to get done and some other items I’d been putting on the backburner while on my mission in Europe. Some of it was emergency stuff to support the current collapse in Italy. Some of it was to help with the dire situation here. It’s been stressing me for a while. So I took advantage of the day and went for a jog, had a nice lunch, and still had time to make the matinee show at the movies before the late afternoon conference call where I deflected things like a ninja.

Brian Donut: A-Man, I sent you all the documents to look over. What’s your assessment, now that you’ve had a week to review?

Me: Yeah, look it’s all pretty basic. I can recap it, but I don’t want to waste your time with that. It’s just words on a page…

Brian Donut: (Interrupting) Pages

Me: Pages, yes. The point is I want to know YOUR vision. Let’s not make this about what Brazil is doing.

Brian Donut: (Interrupting) Colombia

Me: No, Brian, not Brazil, it’s Colombia. You’re getting it mixed up. But let’s focus on you. You tell me what YOU need to achieve, and we’ll make that happen.

I accomplished other things too, though. I made graphs and charts. I’ve been dusting off my old Excel skills and getting reacquainted with functions I haven’t used in a long time, and finding ways to become more efficient with my work. For example, one of the most tedious parts of my work is analyzing data. There’s a lot of time wasted in collecting data from multiple sources. Then you need validate that the data is correct, that it matches data from other sources for example. Then you have to organize it all in your data tables so you can query it. This process can take hours, even days if you make someone else collect all the data for you by saying you don’t have access because you don’t feel like asking for access and then having to learn where to pull the data. This is why you strive for a senior-level position, because the title implies you can force someone else to do it. In any event, I reviewed the process with an eye toward making the work easier.

PRO TIP: When you need to analyze a lot of data and no one cares, instead of compiling real data in Excel, use the RANDBETWEEN() function with parameters for the top and bottom numbers of what seems reasonable to you.

With all the time I’ve saved from this new cogent workflow, I have time to hit Taco Nation for Happy Hour.

Day 4 - February 28

Undisclosed Bunker near 30.20, -95.53…more or less

It’s gone. One day it was there, then like three months later (or however long it’s been since I’ve been there) it’s just gone. I mean, it seems like it’s right there. Everything is the exact same. All signs point to it being the exact same, like nothing has changed. But you KNOW it’s different inside.

It’s the subtle changes, you know? When you know someone intimately you can see changes in little details that others wouldn’t notice. And I’m very perceptive. For example, I always notice the changes Mustang Sally makes when she’s getting her hair done. On a Tuesday she sneaks out of work a bit early, saying something nondescript like “I’ve got to leave a bit early for a salon appointment”…and BAM! The next day she walks in and her hair is different. Well, not always. Actually, most of the time it’s the exact same, to be honest. But I know women, so I’ll look into her eyes and say “I love your hair” and she will glow radiantly, like she would in a cartoon if she swallowed a kilo of weapons-grade Uranium, and then she’ll tell me all about what she thinks the hairdresser did. As best I can tell, the hairdresser is laundering money by talking to her for an hour (or maybe sticking her under a dryer if she’s been drinking and needs to prattle on endlessly about something) while playing with her hair, spraying it with water and massaging in butter she’s mixed with food coloring to look like dye, and then billing her $20 or $30…whatever it is women spend to get their hair done. The thing is that Mustang Sally’s hair always looks great. It’s not long and flowy like Connie Sellecca’s hair was in those Pantene commercials from long ago…but it’s what a man would call “ok”. To a woman, that’s not a compliment for some reason. But to a guy, there are two kinds of hair: Ok, and “is that a wig?”

Anyhow, the point is that I sensed something was different as I stood there, staring into the chasm. The sign said Taco Nation. The other, smaller, sign said “Temporarily Closed”. But I could see right through that. It had turned dark inside. It was probably cold too. And mostly empty. I’m pretty sure it’s never coming back. Never again will I find such an average taco for $4 until I go to one of the other 20 taco shops in the area. Actually, now that I think of it, it’s not so bad. There’s another place a few minutes away that has much better tacos and they are cheaper. For $9 you basically get 5 tacos with either a side of diarrhea, or if you refuse that, you’ll get the delayed-onset explosive diarrhea…so plan accordingly folks.

Day 7 - March 1

bunker of hell

For three days I’ve been hearing a beeping sound. I know what you think, it’s not the battery for my smoke alarm. I know this for sure because the smoke alarm hasn’t made any sounds since I stabbed it with the screwdriver around 4am two nights ago. Even then, it had been quiet, hiding silently on the ceiling in the hallway and laughing internally as it waited for me to go back to bed. But I was intent on finding the beep. I’m no stranger to torture. I know how to get information. It’s amazing the things people will say when you gently press a screwdriver against the soft tissue under the eye. You shouldn’t be surprised, I assume we’ve all seen the same movies, but still, my point is that even with experience gained from watching TV, I know how to get information.

It only took a light tap of the hammer at the end of the screwdriver to make the little green light explode. And then it took like fifteen, maybe twenty six, increasingly harder hits to really get into the smoke detector to kill it. I should have taken the battery out first because it gets in the way. And then I just hit the thing from different angles, kind of yanked on it a bit. I don’t remember exactly because I wasn’t writing it all down and I was having to pause frequently because working with your arms over your head is actually kind of strenuous. The point is I’ve ruled out the smoke alarm as the beeping machine.

But it was then, at 4am, that it dawned on me that they were onto me. It’s the freaking internet of things, man. I heard about it at work. It’s a thing. I used to think c3iot was just a stupid millennial way of making a catchy name, but no…IOT (internet of things). It’s hidden right in the name.

Also, the mirror in my bathroom now has the full schema of the complex. I’ve also added in my assumptions of where I’m pretty sure all the secret passages and cables are.

I’m going to take it down…all of it.