For ten minutes I sit in a leather chair staring through a vid screen on the opposite wall. When a biz-suited functionary comes to get me, I can remember precisely squat of what I’ve just been watching. The functionary leads me down a hall to an oak-grained macroplast door, knocks, then flashes me a model’s meaningless smile, turns her back and vanishes. The door opens before me, and I walk in.