On my way to the whiteboard, I realized that everything is repeating. That I’m stuck in an ever-looping setting. I halted and slowly started putting the lid back on the marker.

“Jonathan, you were about to demonstrate the scalability of our architecture—are you with us?”

Michael and I made a quick eye contact, and for a moment I noticed he was sweating and that he felt this sale, very much like his sweat, was dripping away from his grip. All the faces around the table, all on the side of the prospective customer, started to perk up in anticipation. At last, something was breaking the endless afternoon boredom. Something that will speed up the passage of time toward 5 pm.

“Jon, are you alright …” Mike’s voice shivered slightly as he reached for the water pitcher. I think only I could tell, but I wasn’t sure if he was going to offer me a cup. He certainly could use one.

The Chief Something Officer, a large aging corporate buff whose name I didn’t get and who definitely was the big cheese in the room, took off his reading glasses and tried to stab me with his flimsy pink eyes. I ran my gaze around the table, glimpsing the minions. Pale characters, bleary-eyed, embalmed in their $300 middle-management suits. They were pulled out of their monotonous work-day. Not a bad deal for them. They get a two-hour pastries and coffee break while watching yet another software vendor dancing for them. They also get to throw questions at us during the show. The questions, like small marbles, will bounce on the floor while Michael the salesman and Jonathan the supporting engineer embark on a tango whose sole purpose is to avoid slipping. If we survive a few more meetings like this, an installation, a pilot, and probably a couple of golf games, Michael may be able to sign them on a big fat licensing deal.

And it happened before, time after time.

And it’s happening right now in a million conference rooms.

Right now, a million engineers are approaching whiteboards and talking in generalities about the technology they represent.

A million bored suits are asking them random questions.

A million aggressively groomed salesmen will remove imaginary crumbs from their sharply ironed shirts, will crack open a smile exposing two teeth more than necessary, and will phrase a diplomatic answer based on half-truths and fine-tuned bullshit.

A million engineers will drag themselves after a million salesmen who will invite a million decision makers to eat something, drink something, and promise something.

A thousand salesmen will have thousands of slender, ample-breasted escort girls visit the rooms of thousands of decision makers. Perhaps two thousand.

And it will also happen tomorrow and the day after that. A million actors will accurately repeat their lines. Only a few will try to color their day with a little bit of jazz—but one cannot really beat the classics.

One engineer had to stop. One engineer put the marker down on the table and walked toward the window. He opened it and leaned out, looking at the Philadelphia sidewalk, thirty-stories down. The suits stood up. Everything grew very quiet.

“Jon …? Uh, can you …”

I turned away from the window. They all stood around me, keeping a safe distance. The silence kept me calm. Big Cheese was the only one still sitting. Quickly I jumped toward the table and grabbed my laptop. With my other hand, I started to loosen up my tie.

“Gentlemen, like Michael was saying, our system architecture is indeed the bleeding edge in grid computing. No other company can provide a technology that scales up as cost effectively,” I said, knotting my best tie around my laptop and returning to the window.

“However, like any other shitty product that exists in the market today, it’s not gravity-proof. It will not survive 32.2 feet per square second.”

My arm was full length out of the window, the laptop swinging at the end of the tie.

“What that means is that for every second that goes by, the speed of my falling computer will increase by 32.2 feet per second. The beauty here is that it doesn’t really matter if it’s my laptop, Michael’s phone, or even our competitor’s server. Gravity accelerates everything equally regardless of the positioning, brand, quality, or the cost of our fine product. Galileo is such a marketing buzzkill …”

Michael was not able to reach me before I let go. Trying to calculate its impact speed, I counted the seconds until my expensive hardware smashed into concrete. Its faint shattering barely cracked the silence.

The silence broke only once I was standing out in the hallway, pushing the elevator button. Big Cheese started to laugh out loud, and his entourage followed him with their weak, nervous chuckles. For some reason, his laugh rung in my ears even after I put a distance of several blocks between me and the building.