You’re desperate for work. You take a night school course. You’re on the bomb squad now.
You get the call. On scene you identify the device. You have three minutes to defuse this puppy. You open the casing. Some old woman faints. Dumb bystander. No control.
Your superior has given you the deactivation code. You hate the geezer because he’s been ogling your trashy wife for days. Still, you’re a consummate professional.
Another bystander faints. You rehearse the code: 6275, but here’s the catch—you’re dyslexic. One minute left. You’ll try 2657.
You type, carefully. Kaboom—a long, dark, studious night.