There I was, in a small, remote office building writing code next to Peyton Manning. It was hard to concentrate, because the dude kept talking about chicken wings. Needing an energy reboot, I leaned back in my chair and stretched.
That’s when I saw it. The biggest funnel cloud I’ve ever seen, in person or in photos, in the horizon, just over the eldest Manning brother’s shoulder.
What’s weird is, I didn’t freak out. It was still in the distance a ways. But I did freak out when a thinner tornado touched down in the field adjacent to my office. I jumped up and yelled, “DUDE! WATCH OUT! THAT TORNADO IS COMING THIS WAY!”
Peyton Manning didn’t move.
I stopped with the office door open, halfway to the middle of the building, where I knew we had to be to survive this thing. Manning nonchalantly watched the twister’s approach. It hit the parking lot with a cloud of smoke, and a Ford Focus launched into the air.
“DUDE!” I yelled. Hey, in the moment, you repeat stuff. My repeatable ridiculousness just happened to be ‘dude.’ “COME ON! WE’VE GOTTA GET TO THE MIDDLE OF THE BUILDING!” I flipped my head around and looked out into the lobby. People were already there, huddled in a group under a flight of suspended stairs. I turned back.
Still, Peyton Manning did not move. It was like the tornado was an oncoming linebacker, and he was staying in the pocket.
That’s when I slammed back into reality. My pillow was askew, cocking my head at about a forty-five-degree angle.
A dream. I should have known. But sometimes, dreams reveal simple truths.
I guess you just can’t trust Peyton Manning when there’s a tornado around.