Clear a Path

I meet people every day who want things handed to them. Little things in bags with doilies inside and ribbons on top. Things that are both expensive and useless. Gifts that no one needs but everyone wants. Things with handwritten cards and envelopes full of cash. They want to be treated like they’re walking the red carpet when all they’re doing is heading full steam into a conference room for some late-breaking ideating. 

These people are married to the notion someone else with a higher salary should be the one to crack the big idea for them. If they firmly believe that, foxtrot over to the ol’ Chemical Bank on Main and see if they have any safes to take a spin. Ask for Dave. Then ask why they haven’t changed the sign to Chase since the merger between the two financial institutions happened twenty plus years ago. 

They say they want a path cleared for them. They want their bosses to give them more than dribs and drabs, but chunks and hunks instead. Enough to chew on and plenty to choke on. 

What do they think this is? Logging 101 with Long Jack Lumber turning Muir Woods into a stack of piano legs? If that were the case, I’d recommend grabbing a flannel shirt from the pile over by the bonfire, some steel-tipped Timberlands if you’re worried about the lead ones and any clip-on beard for the follicly-deficient. While they are detachable, they aren’t yet itchless. Mere toupees you staple in place onto each cheek. Although, having someone else man the stapler usually means better, less askew results. 

What else do these ingrates desire besides a clear path? They want it landscaped and everything. With gnomes, fountains, manicured hedges to form a soul-crushing maze. They despise guardrails or limitations of any kind. They’d prefer cruising around a curve only to careen off it into the ocean below. That’s how they define freedom.

I think it’s time to log off for a while. The fumes are starting to get to me.