I am standing against a corner in the lobby of my floor, next to the elevators. I am trapped. There is no escape route.

Everything was going fine up to this point. We had finished separating disks and memos and reports, and Eddie took them all to his office, and we arranged to meet later for lunch and go over it together. He also promised he would tell me what he knows. That I didn't believe, but I didn't have much choice. Now I have to get back to my desk and make sure that I didn't miss any emails, reports, anything that might be even remotely related to the strategic plans.

I can't get to my desk, though. I can't enter the office. I can't move.

What is stopping me is Tony. Seeing him once a day is bad enough; twice or more could potentially be a traumatic experience, like watching Dick Cheney give TV interviews in a pink tutu.

This time he was standing outside the elevator, waiting, and he jumped in front of me as soon as I stepped out of it. It seems that he was waiting for me. Why, though, is not clear.

He has spent the last fifteen minutes explaining to me why Jurassic Park is actually a parable, a serious treatise on Democracy and Human Rights. He has it all figured out: who the mosquitoes represent, what does the blood mean, why the T-Rex runs so fast. He is moving on to the, quote, classical, unquote, meaning of E.T.'s stretching neck, when I can't take it anymore.

What bullshit, I say almost to myself, rolling my eyes.

It's all a lie, he says, somehow managing to agree with me while ignoring that I'm talking about him. He goes on, All a lie. I know. He goes on: I remember Kosovo...

Kosovo? What the....

You were in Kosovo? I say.

Well, it was in 1998, you know..., he says.

This is typical Tony. Try to prove that he doesn't know what he's talking about, and he will immediately change the subject to something so different that your only choice is to wait in silence to see where he's going, or walk away.

I'll walk away.

I say, Right, Right. You know? I need to go.

You have to be careful and avoid saying something that might set him off again.

I raise my arm, trying to signal that I am going to make it through one way or another. He steps back, but says, Actually, I wanted to ask you something.

Ah, that's why all the Jurassic Park gibberish? I think. And that's why he was waiting for me! This could be dangerous. Evasive maneuver at once!

I don't really have time, I say. Send me an email.

Come on, it's just a minute, he says.

Email! I say and I take a step to the side and start my escape.

I am about to walk through the door, leaving him behind, when he says, I just wanted to ask if you knew something about some Action Plan. Action Plan B. Anything?

I don't stop, I just say again, Email! and ignore him again. But he is also looking for this Plan, and that means the nightmare isn't over.

I'll have to talk to him again later today.