This birthday cake is tasty. I can see by the dollop of frosting on your tie that you agree. I’d be more than willing to stand here with you, eating delicious birthday cake in mutual silence, but I’m afraid people would notice. Everyone else has spread around the conference room, paired off into groups, and started their own tiny conferences. We’re going to have to start talking soon or it’s going to look pretty fucking weird over here. Lick that frosting off your tie if you agree. Okay then. Perhaps it’s time we had that conversation about Lost again.
Similar to the format of the television program in question, let’s kick things off with a recap — our own little “Previously on Lost,” if you will. You were reluctant to set foot on the island, as it were, but Jan from Marketing insisted and you ended up liking the show even more than she did. I was a long-time fan, but with certain seemingly insurmountable qualms. Here’s a sneak preview of the qualms I’ll be addressing once we get to that portion of the conversation: “Jacob sucks and why are there polar bears?” There’s plenty more where that came from, as you know.
It looks like someone in Accounts Receivable just said something funny. I wonder what it could have been. On Lost, the comic relief usually came from plus-size jokester, Hugo “Hurley” Reyes. Good old Hurley — so many evergreen discussion points packed inside that rotund physique. Those ought to kill a couple minutes. “Why doesn’t Hurley lose weight since there’s no food on the island?” is a subject we’ve parsed over during at least two of the other times we’ve had this exact same conversation. In fact, I’m pretty sure I used the same segue before
We should probably just cut to the chase and address the 800-pound fog monster in the room, though. The series finale has come and gone, revealing so many of the island’s magical secrets. In the past, you suggested that the show took place in purgatory — that interminable confinement from which escape is impossible — and ultimately your theory proved out. Let us reflect for a moment on how wonderful it must have felt for the stranded passengers of Oceanic Flight 815 to finally exit the abyss once and for all. How cruelly punishing, to remain stuck in some eternal void with nothing to talk about except Sawyer nicknames, and only crumb-strewn paper plates to look at forever.
I cannot tell a lie — it feels pretty goddamn pointless to rehash all these details now that the show has long since been off the air. Some of the gravitas has certainly faded in potency. I’ll take that look of narcotized detachment in your eye as agreement. Fortunately, it appears that Marty from Creative just broke through the “hatch” of the exit door, so the two of us are no longer “shipwrecked,” so to speak, on the “island” of this “conference room.” I can’t say for sure why I made finger quotes when I said “conference room” just now. The conference room is not metaphorical, no matter how much I wish that were so.
You know, in a lot of ways I’m glad we almost had a conversation, or whatever we just did. Threadbare as it may be, this topic once again delivered us where we needed to go in the end. Unlike that Oceanic Flight 815, which turned out to be quite the clusterfuck. Anyway, have a great weekend and I’ll see you by the coffee machine on Monday. You can let me know if the weather cooperated.
Photo by Simon Cocks