Bite, Type, Swallow, Repeat

At 11:43 in the morning, the Viking newsroom entered a state of emergency.

No alarms sounded.

No one shouted.

Nobody ran through the halls carrying a stack of papers while screaming, “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!”

There was simply a moment—a precise, almost imperceptible moment—when everyone at the Seabrook Viking realized that the deadline was no longer something in the future.

It was here.

The clock on the wall said 11:43.

The front-page deadline was 2:00 p.m.

The second edition had to be uploaded by 3:00.

And the printer deadline was 3:30.

Three hours and forty-seven minutes.

Patrick “Pat” McKean, Editor-in-Chief of the Viking, looked around the newsroom.

Benjamin Diaz, Senior Editor, was already hunched over his laptop.

Grace Orozco, Junior Editor, had three documents open and was typing so quickly that Pat suspected she might actually be typing in several dimensions simultaneously.

Sam Ihle, Crime Reporter, stared at his screen with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb.

Jodie Williams-Ihle, Political Reporter, was surrounded by printouts, notebooks, coffee cups, and enough highlighted passages to illuminate a small cathedral.

Danny Van Hoosier, Sports Reporter, was typing with one hand while scrolling through statistics with the other.

Michael Simmons, Human Interest Reporter, was surrounded by photographs.

Katherine Evangelista, Gossip Columnist, had six tabs open, three phones on her desk, and the expression of someone who had personally declared war on the concept of free time.

Jimmy Pruitt, Photographer, was downloading photographs at a rate that suggested his computer had recently discovered fear.

And Ryan Hall, the Viking's War Correspondent, was on the phone with someone while simultaneously writing.

Pat took a breath.

“Okay,” he said.

Nobody looked up.

“Deadline is three hours and seventeen minutes.”

Nothing.

Pat waited.

Benjamin typed.

Grace typed.

Sam typed.

Jodie typed.

Danny typed.

Michael typed.

Katherine typed.

Jimmy clicked.

Ryan spoke quietly into his phone.

Pat nodded.

“All right, then.”

He walked back into his office.

The newsroom continued.

Bite.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

At 12:02 p.m., Pat emerged from his office.

He had made a decision.

“We're ordering lunch.”

Nobody responded.

Pat looked around.

He tried again.

“Lunch.”

Nothing.

“Food.”

Sam's fingers continued moving.

Pat raised his voice.

“PEOPLE. FOOD.”

Jodie briefly lifted one finger without looking up.

It was unclear whether this meant yes, no, wait, I acknowledge your existence, or please stop speaking.

Pat sighed.

He pulled out his phone.

“Fine.”

He opened the group chat.

PAT: Subway?

Three dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

DANNY: Yes.

GRACE: Turkey.

SAM: Italian B.M.T.

JODIE: Whatever.

MICHAEL: Tuna.

KATHERINE: Chicken teriyaki.

BEN: Footlong meatball.

Pat stared at the screen.

Then came another message.

RYAN: Buddha Banh Mi.

Pat blinked.

PAT: What?

RYAN: Buddha Banh Mi & Bobas.

PAT: You want Subway and Buddha Banh Mi?

RYAN: Yes.

PAT: Why?

There was a pause.

RYAN: Because I'm hungry.

Pat considered this.

Fair enough.

He typed.

PAT: Fine.

He placed the order.

Then he returned to his desk.

No one thanked him.

No one even acknowledged the order.

The Viking newsroom had entered a higher plane of existence.

Conversation was now forbidden.

At 12:19, Pat heard the front door open.

A delivery driver walked in carrying several enormous bags.

He looked around.

“Viking News?”

Pat raised his hand.

The driver approached.

“Subway.”

Pat nodded.

Then another delivery driver came in.

“Buddha Banh Mi?”

Ryan raised his hand.

The driver put the bags down.

“Boba drinks.”

Ryan raised his hand again.

The drivers left.

The bags sat on the table.

No one moved.

Pat looked at them.

Everyone looked at them.

Except they didn't actually look.

Their eyes remained fixed on their screens.

Pat waited.

Finally, at 12:21, he said:

“Food's here.”

No one moved.

Pat frowned.

“Food.”

Still nothing.

“Lunch.”

Nothing.

“Guys.”

Silence.

Then, without looking up, Sam said:

“Give me five minutes.”

Pat stared at him.

“You're going to let your sandwich sit there for five minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Paragraph.”

Pat nodded.

Fair enough.

The newsroom returned to silence.

Bite.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

At 12:26, the first person broke.

It was Danny.

He stood up.

Everyone heard his chair roll backward.

The entire newsroom froze.

Danny walked toward the food.

Nobody said anything.

He opened the Subway bag.

The sound of paper crinkling seemed deafening.

Danny removed his sandwich.

He sat down.

He unwrapped it.

He took one bite.

Chew.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

Nobody spoke.

Five minutes later, everyone else followed.

It was almost ceremonial.

Benjamin stood.

Grace stood.

Sam stood.

Jodie stood.

Michael stood.

Katherine stood.

Jimmy stood.

Ryan stood.

Pat watched them approach the food like exhausted pilgrims approaching a shrine.

Within seconds, the newsroom was filled with the sounds of wrappers opening.

Paper tearing.

Plastic lids popping.

Boba straws being punched through plastic.

And chewing.

That was it.

No conversation.

No jokes.

No complaints.

No newsroom banter.

Just eating.

And typing.

Bite.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

At 12:41, Jodie received a message.

She looked at her phone.

Her eyebrows rose.

Sam noticed.

He looked over.

Jodie shook her head.

Sam returned to his screen.

Three seconds later, Jodie whispered:

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me.”

Every head in the newsroom lifted.

Jodie immediately went back to typing.

Pat looked at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Jodie.”

She sighed.

“The mayor's office changed the quote.”

A collective groan moved through the room.

It was the first sound resembling conversation in twenty minutes.

“What did they change?” Benjamin asked.

“The entire statement.”

Silence.

Benjamin slowly removed his glasses.

“How much?”

“All of it.”

Pat closed his eyes.

“Of course.”

Jodie began typing again.

“I'll fix it.”

Benjamin nodded.

Everyone returned to work.

Bite.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

At 12:53, Sam's computer froze.

He stopped typing.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He waited.

The spinning wheel appeared.

Sam stared at it.

The newsroom continued around him.

He clicked.

Nothing.

He clicked again.

Nothing.

He leaned closer.

“Don't.”

The computer remained frozen.

“Don't you dare.”

The spinning wheel spun.

Sam's face changed.

“Don't.”

Spinning.

“Please.”

Spinning.

“Please don't.”

Spinning.

Sam whispered something under his breath.

Jodie glanced over.

“What?”

“My computer.”

“Frozen?”

“Yes.”

“Did you save?”

Sam stared at her.

There was a long silence.

“No.”

Jodie closed her eyes.

“Sam.”

“I was going to.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“When?”

“Before the deadline.”

Jodie stared at him.

Sam stared at the computer.

The wheel continued spinning.

Then—

The screen returned.

Sam immediately saved the document.

He exhaled.

Nobody moved.

Sam took another bite of his sandwich.

Bite.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

At 1:07, the newsroom entered what Pat later called “The Silent Hour.”

Nobody spoke.

Not one word.

The only sounds were keyboards.

Mouse clicks.

Printers.

Phones vibrating.

Occasionally someone cleared their throat.

Every person was buried in work.

The newsroom no longer resembled an office.

It resembled a monastery.

Except instead of copying illuminated manuscripts, everyone was fighting with Microsoft Word.

Pat walked around.

He inspected the desks.

Benjamin had finished one story and was editing another.

Grace was laying out the front page.

Sam had finally gotten his crime story down to the correct length.

Jodie was rewriting the mayor's statement.

Danny was checking box scores.

Michael was choosing photographs.

Katherine was working on her gossip column.

Jimmy was processing photographs.

Ryan was typing.

Pat looked over Ryan's shoulder.

“What's that?”

Ryan didn't look up.

“Foreign policy.”

Pat nodded.

“Good.”

Ryan typed.

Pat walked away.

Three steps later, he stopped.

“Wait.”

Ryan continued typing.

Pat turned around.

“What foreign policy?”

Ryan looked up.

“I'm writing about the ambassador.”

Pat nodded.

“Right.”

He walked away again.

Then he stopped.

“Which ambassador?”

Ryan sighed.

“Pat.”

“Yeah?”

“Please.”

Pat nodded.

“Right.”

He returned to his office.

At 1:19, Katherine's phone rang.

She stared at it.

Everyone heard it.

Katherine didn't move.

It rang again.

She looked at the caller ID.

Her eyes widened.

She answered.

“Hello?”

Everyone continued typing.

Katherine listened.

“Yes.”

Pause.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“That's interesting.”

Pause.

“No, I didn't know that.”

Everyone's typing slowed.

Katherine looked around.

“Are you sure?”

Pause.

“Absolutely sure?”

Pause.

Katherine sat upright.

“Okay.”

She hung up.

The newsroom waited.

Katherine looked at everyone.

Nobody spoke.

She smiled.

“I have a story.”

Danny stopped typing.

“What kind?”

Katherine looked at him.

“A very good one.”

Pat emerged from his office.

“No.”

Katherine blinked.

“I haven't even told you.”

“No.”

“You don't know what it is.”

“I know you.”

“It's relevant.”

“Is it already in the paper?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

Katherine stared at him.

“Pat.”

“We're at deadline.”

“But—”

“No.”

“It's huge.”

“How huge?”

Katherine considered.

“Front page huge.”

Pat stopped.

Everyone looked up.

Katherine smiled.

“I thought so.”

Pat pointed at her.

“You have fifteen minutes.”

Katherine's fingers hit the keyboard.

Bite.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

At 1:31, Grace discovered a problem.

“Pat?”

Pat looked up.

“What?”

“The front-page headline doesn't fit.”

Pat walked over.

Grace showed him the screen.

The headline was approximately forty-seven characters too long.

Pat stared.

“Shorten it.”

“I tried.”

“Shorten it again.”

“I did.”

“Again.”

Grace sighed.

“How?”

Pat looked at the headline.

He thought.

Then he deleted three words.

“Like that.”

Grace stared.

“That doesn't make sense.”

“Then delete four words.”

Grace laughed despite herself.

Pat smiled.

“Welcome to journalism.”

She shortened it.

The headline fit.

“Perfect.”

She returned to work.

At 1:37, disaster struck.

Jimmy's photo folder disappeared.

He stared at his screen.

“No.”

Pat heard him.

“What?”

“My photographs.”

“What about them?”

“They're gone.”

Everyone stopped.

Jimmy clicked through folders.

Nothing.

He searched.

Nothing.

“Where are they?”

Michael looked over.

“Did you move them?”

“No.”

“Trash?”

“No.”

“Cloud?”

“Checking.”

Pat approached.

Jimmy searched.

Nothing.

The newsroom was silent again.

Pat looked at the clock.

1:38.

Twenty-two minutes until the front-page deadline.

“Can you recover them?”

Jimmy nodded slowly.

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Give me a minute.”

Everyone returned to work.

Jimmy typed commands.

He searched directories.

He checked backups.

He opened folders nobody knew existed.

The newsroom waited without appearing to wait.

At 1:41, Jimmy said:

“Found them.”

The entire room exhaled.

Jimmy leaned back.

“They were in the archive.”

Pat nodded.

“Good.”

Jimmy resumed work.

At 1:46, Pat realized he had not eaten.

He looked at the lunch table.

One sandwich remained.

He picked it up.

He sat down.

He took a bite.

Then he opened his laptop.

Bite.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

For a brief moment, Pat understood the peculiar rhythm of deadline day.

You didn't eat lunch.

You negotiated with it.

One bite between paragraphs.

One sip of coffee between edits.

One swallow before answering an email.

Food was not a break.

Food was fuel.

The newsroom wasn't eating.

The newsroom was refueling.

At 1:51, Benjamin stood.

Everyone looked up.

He held up a printed page.

“Final copy.”

Pat nodded.

Grace took it.

She read it.

“Good.”

Benjamin sat down.

At 1:53, Jodie finished.

“Political story.”

Grace took it.

At 1:54, Sam finished.

“Crime.”

Grace took it.

At 1:55, Danny finished.

“Sports.”

Grace took it.

At 1:56, Michael finished.

“Human interest.”

Grace took it.

At 1:57, Katherine finished.

“Gossip.”

Grace took it.

At 1:58, Jimmy finished.

“Photos.”

Grace nodded.

“Perfect.”

At 1:59, Ryan finished.

“Foreign.”

Grace looked at the clock.

“One minute.”

Ryan handed it over.

Grace loaded everything.

Pat stood behind her.

Benjamin stood beside him.

The newsroom watched.

Grace clicked.

Upload.

The progress bar appeared.

Everyone stared.

Twenty percent.

Forty.

Fifty-seven.

Sixty-eight.

Seventy-five.

The progress bar stopped.

Nobody breathed.

“Come on,” Pat whispered.

Seventy-six.

Seventy-seven.

Seventy-eight.

The newsroom collectively leaned forward.

Eighty-five.

Ninety.

Ninety-four.

Ninety-nine.

The progress bar froze.

Pat stared.

Grace stared.

Benjamin stared.

Sam stared.

Jodie stared.

Danny stared.

Michael stared.

Katherine stared.

Jimmy stared.

Ryan stared.

The computer remained at ninety-nine percent.

“Don't,” Sam whispered.

Grace's eyes widened.

“Don't do this.”

Pat looked at the clock.

2:00.

The newsroom was silent.

The progress bar moved.

One hundred percent.

UPLOAD COMPLETE.

Nobody moved.

Then Grace leaned back.

The entire newsroom exhaled simultaneously.

It sounded like an enormous deflating balloon.

Pat looked at the clock.

2:00.

Exactly.

He looked around.

Everyone was exhausted.

Everyone had eaten half a sandwich.

Everyone had coffee.

Everyone had survived.

Pat smiled.

“Good work.”

No one responded.

Danny slowly raised his sandwich.

“I'm finishing this.”

Jodie lifted her boba.

“Same.”

Katherine picked up her phone.

“I have another story.”

Pat's smile disappeared.

“No.”

“You don't even know what it is.”

“No.”

“But—”

“Deadline's over.”

Katherine frowned.

“So?”

Pat stared at her.

“The next deadline starts tomorrow.”

Katherine smiled.

“Exactly.”

Pat walked back into his office.

At 2:07, the newsroom finally began to breathe again.

People spoke.

Quietly at first.

Then normally.

Danny complained about the sports editor.

Jodie complained about the mayor's office.

Sam complained about his computer.

Katherine complained that Pat had almost killed her best story.

Jimmy complained about the archive.

Grace complained about headlines.

Benjamin complained about everyone complaining.

Ryan simply finished his boba.

Pat emerged from his office.

“All right. We're done.”

Everyone looked at him.

“For today?”

Pat smiled.

“For the front page.”

Danny laughed.

“That isn't the same thing.”

“No,” Pat admitted.

He looked around the newsroom.

Wrappers covered desks.

Empty cups stood beside keyboards.

Half-eaten sandwiches sat beside notebooks.

There were crumbs everywhere.

The place looked like a battlefield.

But the page was done.

The deadline had been met.

The Viking had survived another day.

Pat raised his coffee.

“To deadlines.”

Everyone raised whatever they were holding.

Coffee.

Boba.

Water.

Half a sandwich.

Someone raised a pen.

“To deadlines,” they echoed.

Then Sam looked at his sandwich.

He took a bite.

Danny typed something.

Grace opened another document.

Katherine's phone buzzed.

Benjamin sighed.

Jodie opened her email.

Jimmy started another download.

Ryan checked the wire.

Pat stared at them.

“You're kidding.”

Nobody answered.

Pat looked at the clock.

2:11.

He shook his head.

“You people are impossible.”

He returned to his office.

The newsroom resumed its normal rhythm.

Bite.

Type.

Swallow.

Repeat.

And somewhere in the building, the next deadline quietly began counting down.