I dutifully followed the intranet link she had sent me via our corporate email system which brought me to a sharply designed, red and white emblazoned site called "Seasons."
Immediately gratifying was the soft focus nostalgia that such a website name evoked, like the never-ending cycle of birth, growth, decay and renewal, I had graduated, by virtue of my 10 years of public service dedication, from a salad green springtime servant to a servant in the glorious summer of my career.
From a list of possible choices that ranged from a silver-plated ring stamped with an impressive "10," to a set of binoculars (for use on an outdoor adventure during my four weeks of state-sanctioned annual leave, I supposed), I opted for the digital heart-rate monitor sports watch. I haven't been to a gym in at least as many years as I've worked for the public service, but this item seemed to me a kind of pilot light, a way of keeping alive that faint hope of eventual escape.
And OK, my new watch won't win me any awards for best fashion accessory, but that's not why I chose it.
For you see, on the one hand my new watch tells me how slow the daily routine of bureaucracy makes my heart beat, all but guaranteeing I'll live to see my next 10 year landmark. On the other hand, it marks out clear little units of time, as a reminder that another ten years can feel like a season in Hell if endured without one eye firmly fixed on the world beyond my little plot of the public service cube farm.
And with that I believe it's now time for my coffee break...
