After we've been yapping for a while, he says, "I want to talk to you. Come over here." Now, imagine, if you will, "I want to talk to you" in the Phil accent. Are you getting my point? Ah, yes, it was lovely. So we go over and sit on a bench in the corner and yap. Very pleasant. Show, site, blah dee blah. Quality time with Phil is excellent. At this point, I become aware of someone coming up on my right, preparing to sit down next to me. Who is this interloper, I wonder, who cannot tell that I am trying to have a conversation? I start to turn, fully prepared to unleash my nastiest WHAT-DO-YOU-WANT? glare, and then I see that it's Sars. Heh. "Sorry to interrupt," she says, plunking down beside me. "Privilege of the job." Thirty seconds later, the door having been flung open, there are about twelve people within six feet of me and Phil. So much for quality time. ["Oh, boo hoo. Heh." -- Sars]
Later on, as I am conducting a debriefing with Zron and JudyZ, he mentions the Phil talk. "I want you to know, there were a lot of very curious women over here. They were all, 'They're over there talking! Their knees are touching!'" I make it clear that of course I had no idea about the knee thing. And then I am struck by lightning. Oh, no. But I should be.
"You really are my favorite," I tell Kevin, dropping an arm around him.
"The truth comes out at last," he says. "At last."
"If Kevin tells you I told him he was my favorite? He's totally lying," I tell Brennan.
"I would never have believed it for a minute," he says.
It is just after the breakup of my conversation with Phil that somebody comes over and leans down and says, "Millie wants to talk to you." I have to be wary of this kind of thing, because I've had this happen a few times where it turned out that clearly, this was code for the fact that the person asking wanted me to go talk to whoever it was, so I never assume that this actually means that things are as they are being presented to me. Nevertheless, I go over and start inquiring about whether various people have seen Millie around. Finally, somebody points me toward the bar. I go over there, where a little blonde with long hair is sitting at the bar with her back to me, chatting. I point to her back and mouth to someone, "Millie?" He nods. I wait until a pause comes, and then I tap her on the shoulder. She turns around and reads my nametag, and we shake hands. The first thing she says? "I know you don't like me."