Tuesday March 4, 2003:
Okay, so maybe Gordon really is (or will be) as good at shooting as I am. He’s practising every other night. But when it comes to vent-crawling, I’m still the reigning champ.
At around 3.30pm I get a call in from Hunter to say that Kleiner is locked out an in need of help. I was hanging out near the power station for the trainline, and Gordon was in the test chamber control room when Kleiner paged him.
Without wasting a second I clambered into the nearest vent and started tunnelling like a madman. I was a bit further afield than usual, but I still knew to take a left, then a left, then a right, then drop down, go along, then right and then:
“Good heavens Barney! Where on earth did you come from?” exclaimed Kleiner as I opened the door.
“Oh, I have my ways Doc,” I winked.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you were in possession of classified knowledge on quantum tunnelling.”
“Aw shucks. You flatter me.”
A whole six minutes and eight seconds later, Gordon dropped down from the vent above us and landed on Kleiner’s desk.
“Suck it Freeman!” I gloated. “That’s one point to me.”
I was gracious diary. I saved the victory dance for later.
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