You can see it in their eyes as they dart left and right, up and down. Their hands make rapid, self-flagellating movements over their chest, hips, buttocks. Their pulse quickens. Cold beads of sweat rise across their upper lip and forehead. Their breathing is shallow at first, then builds, gradually, to a large sigh. Inaudible words are whispered and the individual appears agitated, often pacing in circles as they speak.
They stop. They frantically look about, rechecking pockets, coats, desktops, and even peer under the keyboard. Their thoughts circle, pupils constrict, palms moisten, and mouth goes dry.
Then, as fast it came, nothing. They try to stay calm but the damage is done. A blank stare descends as they look toward somewhere in space, as if every hope, every friend, every loved one, is lost.
"Doctor, are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Acute Rectangle Deficiency...."
"... I think I left my cellphone at home."