Friday the 13th Special Edition | November 13, 2026

On Thursday afternoon, I sent an email marked High Importance and it sat in my Outbox for forty-seven minutes. I can live with a lot of things. I once stayed at a hotel where the bathroom mirror only showed me from the waist up. But if I take the trouble to click the little red exclamation point, somebody at Microsoft ought to hear a bell.

I called my assistant.

“Did you get my email?”

“Outlook is down, Josh. It’s affecting people all over the world.”

“Then somebody in another time zone must have had this problem before I did. What did they do?”

“They waited.”

It was exactly the kind of limited thinking I’d addressed in the email.

By Friday morning, Microsoft was still working on recovery, and I had decided to fly from Chicago to Seattle to discuss the matter in person. My assistant asked whether anybody at Microsoft was expecting me. I reminded her that I had sent an email. If they hadn’t received it, that rather proved the need for my visit.

I arrived at O’Hare freshly shaved, wearing a navy jacket over a shirt open to what our employee handbook calls “the maximum allowable depth.” I had a boarding pass, a window seat, and a folder containing my correspondence with Microsoft. The folder was empty, obviously. That was Exhibit A.

Just as I reached the gate, the agent set down her scanner. Air traffic control was having communications problems. The FAA had issued a nationwide ground stop. Our flight would stay at the gate, and boarding would have to wait.

“Nationwide?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

I stepped closer so she could read the gold lettering on my Bank of Entitlement card. “Including presidents?”

“Where are you the president of?”

“The Bank of Entitlement.”

She looked at the card. She looked at my boarding pass. “Well, Mr. President, you can have a seat.”

At last, somebody with a little initiative. I thanked her and headed for the jet bridge.

“One of the blue ones, Josh.”

There were about two hundred blue seats behind me. A small boy lifted his backpack off the one beside him. I sat down with what dignity a man can retain when his formal reception has been arranged by a third grader.

After a few minutes, the boy asked why I was going to Seattle.

“To speak to the person in charge of the cloud.”

He considered this. “My grandma’s going to see her sister.”

“Does she have an appointment?”

“She has a key.”

I took out my phone and made a note to look into getting a key to Microsoft.

By then, what bothered me most was the lack of consultation. On Thursday, Microsoft had made it impossible for anyone to receive my instructions. On Friday, the federal government had made it impossible for me to deliver them personally. I borrowed a pen from the boy’s grandmother and drafted an executive order on the back of a pretzel receipt authorizing my immediate departure.

The gate agent read it all the way through. I appreciated that.

“Mr. President, even if I let you board, who would you like to fly the plane?”

I glanced through the window. Both pilots were standing at the next gate eating sandwiches. One had mustard on his tie.

“I suppose they should finish lunch.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

I returned to my blue seat. The boy had saved it for me again. Frankly, he’s the strongest candidate for management I’ve encountered in months.

Then my phone chimed. After a day and a half of unreliable email, a message had finally arrived. It was the complaint I’d dictated at the gate and addressed to “the highest-ranking person available.” Outlook had filled in my own name.

A second message followed. My automatic reply.

Thank you for contacting Hot Josh, President of the Bank of Entitlement. I am currently traveling on important business. For urgent matters, please contact someone on the ground.

I looked down at the blue carpet. The boy looked down at the blue carpet. Neither of us said a word.

I have since withdrawn my complaint against Outlook. Its assessment of my rank was accurate, and it routed the matter to someone on the ground in under a minute.

The FAA will be hearing from me separately. Apparently, before anyone in this country can take off, they need clearance from somebody in a tower. I run an entire bank on the authority of a nameplate I ordered myself. I’d at least like to know where they bought the tower.