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do.”
    “Everyone’s always got a lot to do, but the holidays are when we need the most.”
    I let her enter the elevator ahead of me. Now I felt doubly guilty. Before I could stop myself—
    “You know what? I’ll come down right now.” Hey, it’s Christmas , I thought. What the heck.
    “Really?” Her face lit up. “I’ll slide you right in.”
    My face flushed at the imagined innuendo. “That’d be great.”
    Silence while we waited for the elevator to drop to the ground floor.
    “You’re going to need more than that.”
    “Huh?”
    She was looking at my thin jacket.
    “It’s freezing out. Did you see the storm warnings? The coldest Christmas since 1930. So much for global warming,” she laughed.
    “They should have called it global warning ,” I laughed back.
    She turned to me.
    “You’re an internet guy, right?”
    I shrugged yes.
    “Did you notice that it was almost impossible to get on the web this morning?”
    That got my attention.
    “I did. Are you on Roadrunner too?” It must be some type of carrier problem in the building .
    “No,” she replied. “On CNN they’re saying it’s a virus or something.”
    The elevator stopped at the ground floor and opened.
    “A virus?”
     

11:55 a . m .
     
     
    GIVING BLOOD TOOK longer than I’d imagined. Pam moved me first in line, but it was a quarter past ten by the time I finally exited the Red Cross, donut in hand, to catch a cab into Midtown.
    I figured I would do a round of our four clients in the center of town, drop off the gifts—shaking hands if anyone was around—and then run back to do some grocery shopping. I’d swing by home, drop off the food and check on Luke while I grabbed a bite to eat with Irena, and then head down to the Financial District for the final two client gift drop-offs and maybe a holiday drink or two.
    Buoyed by the feel-good sensation of giving blood, or perhaps high from a lack of oxygen and red blood cells, my trip into Midtown took on a cinematic aura. I gawked out of the window of my cab, watching the holiday shoppers bustling by on the streets, caught up in the excitement of New York at Christmas. Everyone was bundled up in hats and scarves against the intense and sudden cold, shopping bags in hand.
    The first stop was next to Rockefeller Center, and after dropping the gift off, I spent at least ten minutes standing and looking at the tree outside. The energy and vitality was amazing, and I even offered to take pictures for a few tourists.
    My route then took me up past the Plaza Hotel, along Central Park, and looping back toward downtown. I was texting with Lauren about what we needed for food, but for the last half hour she’d stopped answering my texts.
    After I finished my rounds in Midtown, I hopped in a taxi and had it drop me back in Chelsea at Whole Foods. After cruising up and down the aisles for half an hour, filling my shopping cart and getting into the Christmas spirit, I finally arrived at the check-out line.
    It was huge.
    I waited ten minutes, checking my e-mail a few times, before asking a frustrated-looking woman in front of me, “What’s going on?”
    “I don’t know,” she replied over her shoulder. “Seems like they’re having some problems with the computers.”
    “Mind watching my stuff while I go and have a look?”
    I left my cart and wandered off toward the cash registers. The crowd of people intensified as I moved forward, ending in a knot of angry shoppers.
    “Why can’t you just take cash?” one of them said.
    “Sir, we can’t let you take anything out of the store unless it’s scanned,” replied a frightened-looking cashier, a young girl who was helplessly waving around a bar scanner.
    I slipped in behind the registers to address the cashier directly.
    “What’s happening?” I asked.
    Turning to me she said, “It’s still not working, sir.”
    She was flustered and must have thought I was a manager.
    “Explain to me again exactly what happened, from the