It turns out that Phil has been in the Army... the Chinese Army where, as best I can glean from so many Chinese movies, all soldiers are trained in mystical kung fu, capable of short range flight, and possessed of golden magical energy. It now seems that my idea to have planked him in the back of the head while sneaking by his desk may have been ill-advised. I blame you for this, Sam. You should have known better than to let me run off, half-cocked, or even one-third-cocked as it turned out.
I've made a peace offering, a gift basket of assorted jams, and I think everything will work out fine between us. Especially once the psychotropics in the jam start to take effect.
The whole situation has taught me an important lesson, though. It's made me realize that I am physically weak, and have a phobic aversion to pain. I once fainted while watching someone cook chicken in the microwave; that's how ridiculous my fear of hurt is. You'd think that would have taught me the lesson long ago, but for the purposes of this story, it did not.
My mind is my strength, as sad a statement as that is, and I shall endeavor to rely on it in all future battles. Until my inevitable telekinesis manifests, this means I will become a planner, a schemer, an office Machiavelli. Instead of challenging the next Phil directly, I shall manipulate my co-workers to do it for me. I shall be unstoppable.
Unless I am stopped, somehow.