He fumbles with the lid and any satisfaction from getting the bottle open on his own disappears as the pills spill over his desk. He takes one and collects the rest, finding he's now four pills short. Dana runs in with a folder of papers he forgot to sign.
On bad days, he thinks less than charitable thoughts about the people around him: taking life for granted with the naive belief that the mind will always recall and the body will always respond. On good days, he looks at all he has and is grateful for getting off so easy.