What is happening?
What is HAPPENING?
WHAT IS HAPPENING?
“... and I know you probably think I’m crazy,” she continued, now halfway down the aisle, her voice carrying through the dead-silent conference room like a megaphone, “but I promise I’m not crazy, I’m just very in tune with the universe, and the universe isveryclear about this, likeextremelyclear, and my tarot cards this morning pulled The Lovers and The Sun, which is basically the universe screaming, ‘THIS IS IT,’ and then I bumped into you. Literally bumped into you, and I felt it, that cosmic pull, that destiny energy, and I tried to tell you but you were in such a hurry and I get it, you’re clearly a very busy and important person giving very important talks about”—she squinted at the screen behind me—“brains? You talk about brains? That’s so perfect because I’ve always said the brain is just the universe’s way of experiencing itself and—”
“Stop,” I finally managed to croak out.
She stopped walking. Smiled wider. “I know, right? It’s overwhelming. The cosmic significance of—”
“No.” I found my voice. Sort of. It came out strangled and slightly higher pitched than normal, but it was there. “Stop. Just stop talking.”
Two hundred people were staring at me.
Then at her.
Then back at me.
The moderator was standing off to the side, her mouth slightly open, her severe expression replaced by something that looked like horrified fascination.
This was not happening.
This could not be happening.
I’d driven seven hundred miles. I’d gotten a speeding ticket I hadn’t deserved. I’d sprinted through a casino. I’d made it here with two minutes to spare.
And now this—thisperson—was derailing my entire presentation because she thought we were cosmically connected.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I know this is probably not the best time, but the universe doesn’t really care about timing, you know? It just kind of... happens when it happens. And it’s happening right now. Can’t you feel it?”
“The only thing I’m feeling,” I said, very carefully, “is a strong desire for you to leave this conference room.”
“Oh.” She blinked at me. “But we need to talk about—”
“We don’t need to talk about anything.”
“But the universe—”
“The universe,” I said, my patience fraying like a rope under tension, “is not a factor in this conversation. Whatisa factor is that I am currently in the middle of a presentation. To two hundred people. About neurosurgery. And you are interrupting it.”
She looked around as if just now noticing the audience. “Oh. Right. Sorry about that.”
“So if you could please”—I gestured toward the door with what I hoped was a polite but firm motion—“leave. Now. I would greatly appreciate it.”
I expected an argument. I expected more rambling about cosmic energy and tarot cards and whatever other nonsense she’d been spouting.
Instead, she smiled.
A bright, genuine, absolutely delighted smile.
“Of course!” she said cheerfully. “I totally understand. You’re working. I respect that. I’ll just wait for you outside, and we can talk after, okay? The universe can wait a little longer. It’s been waiting this long, right?”
And then, miracles upon miracles, she turned around and started walking back up the aisle.
Actually walking away.
Leaving.
