You know those situations that only seem to happen in bad Friday night sitcoms? You know, like someone bends over and then their pants rip right up the back and the next 22 minutes deal with them trying to avoid anyone finding out that they've ripped the crotch of their pants out, all of which culminates in some heartwarming message about how it doesn't matter if you have a giant hole in the crotch of your pants, it's the person you are inside that really matters. Yeah, well, that isn't just something that only happens in sitcoms...well, the heartwarming message, yeah, the scenario, not so much. It was an odd emotion that washed over me in the initial seconds following the "Rip heard 'round the office" as it's come to be known. A sort of embarrasment mingled with an extreme sense of terror sprinkled with a hint of bewilderment. Yeah, that's the recipe. It's humbling to know that even as I sit on my throne made of medical records and the crushed hopes of my subordinates, all it takes is a hole in my pants to reduce me to the level of a small child.