“Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap!” Gordon muttered, or more shouted, as he quickly navigated the smart corridors of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. A small dark stain marked his trousers from the coffee he’d spilt on them earlier, and he roughly attempted to cover the stain with his lab coat. The young doctor tried in vain to find the location of House’s office, despite the fact he’d been called in by the Head of Diagnostics more than an hour ago. Comon Morris, you’re slacking again! he thought to himself. This was supposed to be his big break, his entry into the respected world of diagnostics, and already he was screwing up.

Slowing his pace, he noticed a comfortable looking chair to his left, and resumed to collapse into it and gain his breath. Leaning his head against the wall behind him, he looked forward absent mindedly. It was only after some seconds had passed that he realised that the sign next to the door in front of him said ‘Diagnostics’, with an arrow pointing to the right. Rolling his eyes and cursing again, he pushed himself up lazily and began a hurried walk in the direction he had been sent. Another ten minutes, four flights of stairs, two lifts and six signs later he eventually stumbled upon House’s office. There were a few interns already assembled there, puzzling Morris. Had his job already been given away? Panicked, he hastily moved towards the group.