Interlude IV

I regret the interruption in storytelling. Apologies, all.

The fact of the matter is that, while writing is renowned as a career for its rewards in fabulous riches and acclaim, I do have a day job. I am insufficiently celebrated to make my way in this world by stories alone.

As some of you may already know, I work for an event management company. We put on shows of various kinds -- awards banquets, celebrity roasts, annual general meetings for heartless multinationals...that sort of thing. The firm I'm associated with provides a so-called "turn key" solution, taking care of everything from travel, staging and pyrotechnics to dinner, entertainment and custom-made high-definition propaganda videos projected on fifty foot screens.

I, of course, am responsible for folding all the napkins.

Don't laugh. It's not always easy. You know those little crown shapes you sometimes see at fancy dinners? I majored in that at college. I was head of my class.

Of course, event management isn't all about napkins folded into crowns. Oh, no. We also do rosettes, cranes and sailboats. Sometimes if the client is especially prestigious we fold them into diamonds. For scientists, we do tesseracts.

Over the last six weeks my company has been organizing a very big show for a lucretive international client. It's been a stressful, harried time for everyone. Content gets revised at the last moment, streaming media servers fail, set construction falls behind schedule. Myself, I've been jumping hurdles left and right in order to assure that the napkin division of the catering team is snapping to with military precision, ready at an instant's notice to swap out a soiled serviette for a work of twisted textile topographical art -- single-handed, if need be.

We do drills in the parking lot. "Hup, hup, hup!"

At any rate, it's been intense. I haven't had a weekend in a month. I get to the office early and leave late. I forget what my kids look like. (I recall that they're short, but that's about it.)

I'm sorry I haven't been able to be with you lately. The good news is that in just a few days the big event goes live -- a few short hours later it will all be over until next spring. My gruelling marathon of work is nearly done, and after that it's back to sweet, sweet indolence.

Because, let's be honest: I can't complain. Sure, I've been worked to within an inch of my life, but this level of performance is only expected from me semi-annually at most. I spend the lion's share of my employed time listening to music and writing science-fiction novels; when I need a break I take a beer from the fridge and shoot a game of pool with someone. It's not exactly a taxing gig, most days.

I usually get to take it pretty easy. (I mean, not too easy, because I know as well as anyone else that there are younger, cheaper napkin folders out there to compete with, but you get my drift.)

So, when now and again they actually call upon me to do something fabulous, I'm not ornery about rising to the occasion. A well-folded napkin can make or break a conference, and that's what keeps bread on my table: kicking napkin ass.

I'm very tired, but I can see the finish line from here.

The Secret Mathematic will resume shortly. Thank you for your patience.