“Hello. I’m putting a phone in here”—I slowly placed my cell in the famous bucket—“but I have a card for it.” I showed the he/she my card. Stares all around. Was I speaking Cantonese?

“Phone in the bucket! Phone in the bucket!” He/she screamed suddenly. Was this a joke? I walked through the metal detector without setting off the buzzer. “Do you have a red phone card?” He/she inquired. This exercise in futility earned the same security guard a second peep at red phone Reno in less than ten seconds. Taking control of one’s life in an irrational environment wasn’t easy. Logic, efficiency—those things permeated the private sector. This was the government.

Brian was standing at the elevator bank, making my already lucky day that much luckier. “Can you believe it about Adams?” he asked hungrily, clutching a Philadelphia Inquirer.

“Good morning, Brian. How was your weekend?” I asked, calmly. What I really wanted to know was whether his mom had moved in with him.

“Did you hear? Did you hear about Adams?” Ding! Thirteenth floor. I stepped off the elevator and headed straight for my cubicle. Adhering to my mother’s motto that if you ignore it, it’ll go away, I dispelled the Supreme Court from my mind and returned to Dell Nelson. No matter that the death penalty felt less menacing than a judicial nomination. Before I could turn on my computer, Janet materialized.

“So. Ah. Sheila. Hi,” she said, pulling on her cross violently.

“Oh, good morning, Janet. What’s up?” I smiled.

“You heard about Judge Adams, right? I mean—”

“Dude, what’s going on around here,” Medieval Roy said and skidded to a stop, right next to Janet. He started petting what looked like a roach on his chin. “I mean there are, like, TV people outside. What’s goin’ on?”

“Judge Adams just got nominated to the Supreme Court.” Janet paused. “I mean—DUH!” I wondered if she’d picked up that bit of outmoded pop-culture lingo from the kids at church or the Lifetime channel.

“Judge Adams . . . the Supreme Court . . .?” Roy gazed toward the ceiling, pretending to ponder something profound. What he meant was: Who is Judge Adams and what is the Supreme Court?

“Roy, Judge Adams, you know, a judge on this court was just asked by President Bush to be a justice on the Supreme Court—you know, in Washington DC.” I stopped to allow the information to sink in.

“Hey, you like my goatee, Sheila?”

“Yeah, it looks good, Roy. Really, um, good.”

While Roy’s goatee wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes, it was the manner in which Janet was manhandling her necklace that was causing alarm. “Roy—you are so stupid. You don’t know—”

“Holy shit!” Matthew burst into the clerks’ cave, not whispering. “Is anyone else totally freaked out about this? Jesus—the place is swarming with reporters.” I must have just missed the media.