Just when I thought I knew everything, she had to go and spoil it by proving me wrong! I wonder how Albert Einstein would have felt if a fellow employee at the Berne patent office would have simultaneously read and debunked his brilliant theory of special relativity.
I bet you his jaw would have dropped. And his hair would have stood on end, as if he'd just been zapped by electricity.
The reason I say this: that's exactly what happened to me.
I was pretty sure my discovery was pristine. Ellen Allen, on the other hand, believed I was the antichrist.
"All I'm saying, Ellen, is that I've made the discovery of a life time."
"You aren't smart enough to make a discovery of any kind, much less that of a life time."
"I realize you're only speaking this way because I have hurt you in the past," I responded in reticent psychobabble. "Can we let bygones be bygones?"
She scrunched her face in such a manner that I thought I'd won the argument.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
"It's just stupid, Kevin," Ellen Allen finally said. "Even if you mash your instrument into the outlet, all that will happen is your electrocution."
"I beg to differ," I replied. "If Excalibur connects, the world will be mine, my quiet, lovely."
"I guess we'll see," she responded.
I poked the dual prongs of the paperclip into the electrical outlet and shot back in frightened delight.