Manolo says, outside it is the glorious spring Monday! The birds are chirping, the flowers are blooming and, most importantly of all, the sun is shining.
But, sadly, you are locked inside your office, chained to your desk deep in the twilight belly of the corporate galley, pulling relentlessly on your oar.
“Battle Speed!” shouts the Boss Man from the helm.
In response your district manager pounds out the new beat on the top of his desk, quickening the pace at which you must row. The next cubicle over, your immediate supervisor, Ms. Grog, begins lashing Betsy, the new girl.
“Faster, scum! Quarterly projections are down,” She yells.
At that moment the intercom crackles to life.
“Oh, noes!” you think to yourself, between breaths, “here it comes.”
And now it is double-quick time, with the pounding on the desk, and the lashings of the coworkers. But it works, and the ungainly corporate ship lurches forward!
You’re pulling harder than ever now–rowing, rowing, rowing–your entire physical being engaged with the work at hand, but your mind drifts away, to Rome and that semester abroad, when Aldo, your Italian “boyfriend”, insisted on circling the Colosseum three times on his Vespa, with you hanging on the back, laughing and full of life!
“Gladiator sandals,” you think to yourself, the sound of Betsy’s whimpering at the edge of your consciousness, “I need gladiator sandals.”0