I feel like I’m in one of those big city office movies. You know, where everyone is wearing suits and Bluetooth headsets, running around and scheduling the next time they’re going to have a chance pee on their BlackBerrys; the true epitome of professional. Then, all of a sudden the fifteen story office building just explodes out of nowhere and everyone starts throwing their collated, alphabetized documents in the air and running out of their 4x4 cubicles towards the one elevator that is their only exit. It looks like some wild, out of place jungle stampede. Some people are screaming, some crying and praying. The CEO (who actually is the one responsible for the explosion due to the fact that he is about to be audited, the company is about to go under, and all his assets are tied up in company stocks) is locked in his office with a bottle of tequila singing Sweet Home Alabama. There are also the people who always came into work early and stayed later than the janitors who are trying to salvage their entire life as if it was their own precious family heirlooms or their own children in danger and not a few client files and a package of paperclips. Except I don’t feel like the CEO, the workaholics or the people crying and screaming, I feel like that one guy still sitting at his desk with his headphones on who hasn’t figured it out yet.