I returned, and there they were, staring wide eyed and unblinking at the shuttle, which was now no more than a white dot against the blue sky. I stood around for a few moments, feeling that weird office social pressure to participate in whatever ridiculousness deemed by the group to be worthwhile. The TV announcer said that at 3 1/2 minutes, the shuttle had passed the turn-around point and would not be returning to Kennedy. I watched the screen. Either nothing was going to happen, and the shuttle would drift safely from a dot to a speck until it was invisible, or something horrible would happen. I looked around at the widened watery eyes of my co-workers and was stricken with a nauseated chill. I couldn't watch anymore.
"It's too morbid," I mumbled, "I can't stand here and wait for it to blow up." Nobody even looked at me. One of them said, stare unbroken, that she was keeping the shuttle aloft with her eyes and positive thoughts. Maybe so. But I have to remember to either play along with this office shit, or keep my mouth shut.
Then again, the last time I stared at a TV with my co-workers trying to keep something up with my eyes and positive thoughts, it fell down.