In the course of this no-good-ness, one teammate and I concoct an evil plan to take over the universe. Well, maybe not the whole universe; just our universe. This plan hatches so quickly that we spontaneously set it into motion without allowing ourselves time to reconsider (or thoroughly examine all possible ramifications).
Immediately after setting into motion our evil plan to take over the universe, I stand in the hallway smacking myself in the head. "What have I gotten myself into?" I shake my head and look at my feet. I'm not equipped to take over the universe. I don't have that kind of brain capacity; I don't have that kind of time; I don't nearly have that kind of patience nor compassion for humanity.
My teammate smirks at me. Oh, she is so evil ... an evil genius. Even more evil-genius that I could ever hope to be. I fall right into her trap without even hesitating. Trust has a way of doing this to people.
In the end, I make her promise that in the course of taking over the universe, she must promise to stomp on my toes under the table if I get out of line, and she must promise to duct-tape my mouth shut if I do something uber-crazy, like volunteer for a committee.
This, of course, makes us laugh that evil, maniacal, gut-clenching cackle. We are going to take over the universe with foot-stomping, duct tape, and a whole lot of plastic rolling moving bins. Maybe we'll even race the bins down the extended indoor ramp that connects four levels of classrooms.
We are up to no good (of course), and the world will be a better place for it.
