You know the type of sunburn that looks less "beach day" and more "slow-roasting ham"?
That was Kip.
He walked through the staff lounge doors with the stride of a man who thought he just returned from a United Nations summit, not a sweaty corporate retreat in Bali.
Skin peeling at the collar.
Bites visible through his rolled sleeves.
Confidence untouched.
"Greetings, my underpaid peers," he announced.
"Oh no," Jude whispered, biting into a donut like it was his emotional support animal.
Kip dropped his duffel dramatically on the floor.
"Let me tell you, there is nothing like tropical humidity and executive synergy to reset the soul."
"Is that what reset your face?" Trevor muttered.
Kip didn't hear him. He was too busy fishing a crumpled itinerary out of his bag.
"I coordinated two interdepartmental panels, hosted a keynote dinner, and helped draft the framework for next year's overseas compliance strategy."
Jude stared at him.
"Is that why your knees are sunburnt? Did the framework require… kneeling?"
"Oh, yeah," Kip said proudly, completely missing the tone. "Lot of carpeted meetings. Some intense one-on-one time with the exec team."
Jude raised an eyebrow.
"Shag carpet?"
"Very plush," Kip nodded, oblivious. "Upper floor only."
I nearly choked on my coffee.
Marcus looked up from a chart and blinked slowly.
"Did you… not wear bug spray?"
"I was told the private villa would be sealed," Kip replied, scratching his forearm. "Turns out Balinese mosquitoes are immune to Western arrogance."
"Not just the mosquitoes," Jude muttered.
Kip sat down like a war hero returning from the front lines.
"Anyway, I brought gifts."
He dropped a bag of duty-free snacks on the table like rations.
"Please, help yourselves. Just a little something to remind you all that success is possible."
No one moved.
Trevor poked a candy bar like it was a landmine.
"I think this one's sweating."
Kip clapped his hands once, as if dismissing a board meeting only he attended.
"Well, it's good to be back. I'm sure you've all kept the floor… moderately clean."
Jude finally leaned forward, smile gone.
"Okay, Mr. Better Than Thou, glad you had such a spiritually fulfilling trip."
Kip beamed.
"Yes, actually. The executive suite was—"
"You know what? Never mind."
Jude leaned back, eyes narrowing.
"Just tell me—how high up are you now? You've been kissing that ladder's ass so hard it's starting to squeak."
Kip blinked.
"Well, I have been networking closely with leadership."
"Closely," Jude echoed. "Yeah. I'll bet."
Kip pulled out his phone to show pictures of him standing with executives—sunburned, sweating, smiling like a man who hadn't slept but still thought he was winning.
Noah (me), Jude, Trevor, Marcus—we just watched.
He was so proud.
So unaware.
So loud.
After Kip left the room to "refresh his mission statement," the lounge was quiet for a moment.
Trevor shook his head.
"How is he not embarrassed?"
Marcus shrugged.
"Some people mistake endurance for excellence."
Jude looked at us.
"He's not climbing the ladder. He's polishing it with his tongue."
We all winced.
Noah (me): "Too far."
Jude: "Not far enough."
Several nurses in the lounge with us nodded, laughed, or gave Jude a look that said "I don't have a sense of humor."
I stepped out later that shift to refill the supply cart.
Saw Everett down the hallway, folding towels in his usual way.
He didn't ask about Kip.
He didn't have to.
He just glanced toward the lounge and said:
"Some people shout so loud, they never hear who they've stepped over."
I nodded.
"He missed the whole point."
"He missed the whole floor."
Everett folded the next towel.
"But the floor remembers."