Rufus has no business squandering his time waiting for the dentist, reading magazines as if he were a la-de-dah woman of leisure. The site is due to go live in four days, that’s ninety six hours and change assuming he can program around the last few hurdles. The stress is mounting. Rufus’ girlfriend, tired of accommodating Mr. Lumpy Grumpy and sore from sleeping on the couch (according to her he’s been grinding his teeth), is drafting a list of demands. It’s not looking good. Then yesterday, his back left molar cracked while he was wolfing down chocolate pretzels and popcorn. Rufus was quite willing to soldier on, but the pain blocked his ability to write code and so he knuckled under and made an emergency appointment at the Dentist whose shingle he passed everyday on the way to the train.
It’s now late afternoon. “Dr. Sahadi is running behind schedule”, the Receptionist purrs as she returns to typing. Her long fingernails hit the keyboards with an irritating click that makes Rufus’ jaw ache. Bored, he tracks a young guy, dressed like a bike messenger, enter the waiting room and walk into what Rufus assumed was the closet. A few minutes later, a young woman, dressed in yoga pants, follows. By the time three Wall Street types disappear into the mysterious closet Rufus can’t longer ignore the mystery. Heart pounding, he opens the closet door and descends a steep, rickety staircase into a musty basement. In the dim light he sees the Bike Messenger, Yoga Pants and the Wall Streeters inching their way over and around a series of pink/gray boulders. For the first time in days, the pain and stress take a back seat as the world cracks open a bit. Who is this Dentist, he wonders as he dimly hears the Receptionist call his name from above.
