Occasionally I am called in to corporate headquarters to weigh in on the big decisions, to tackle the really big problems, to fire a ton of people and to stuff my Ted Baker trousers with all of the half-and-half packets and binder clips possible. Once you've clipped some chips with binder clips you will begin to feel the miracle of creative problem solving that I feel every day of my life. It will probably stop right there but you will be awed.
I was meeting with two copper-level underlings for a little business pep talk. Life, I explained to them, is like the claw machine at the arcade, you have to persevere! If the doll slips from your tenuous grasp you have to drop your quarters into the slot and grab that doll by it's petulant head and drop it into the metal chute of success.
"So life is pointless waste of time where I give someone else all of my money and never get what I want?" inquired sloth one.
"No, life is rigged and you'd be better off spending your money on buying your success at the store instead of trying to snatch it out of some stupid machine" unhelpfully suggested toad two.
Furious at them both for missing the point of my kick ass metaphor, I fired toad two for having too much ambition and possibly being smarter than me and ran to the roof, ordering my helicopter limo pilot to fly me immediately to Circus Circus, the Reno one where no one would recognize me. I ordered the nearest server to bring a yard of martini to the arcade immediately, stuffed a Woodrow Wilson into the change machine and got to work. As the hours ticked by I went through many stages of enlightenment staring into that box of light and promise. Were the prizes imprisoned or ensconced? Was I in the one trapped with them staring pityingly at me? As the hours ticked by with the ticks and tocks replaced by the sound of quarters rolling down a metal ramp and into a box filled up with other quarters, I bargained with myself and with the universe. I didn't need the big-headed Elsa doll to be happy; I could be happy with a light up Paw Patrol key chain or a pack of Fruit Stripe gum. I could live a simpler life and be happy. I could be free of the trappings of cruelty and excess. The claw machine, the great equalizer of men, had put me face-to-face in it's reflective facade with my own weakness, my fragility, my failings. I had won nothing.
As the last call for quarters and gin rang out over the loudspeaker and the lights slowly began to come on overhead, I knew what I had to do. I had Eddie, my executive phone handler, call the owner of the Casino and after some minor negotiations I bought that claw machine. I bought that claw machine and I pushed it from my executive helicopter into the watering hole of a wildlife sanctuary and then pushed that helicopter off of my yacht and into the sea, barely missing a family of sea sponges who I'd felt had been leering snidely at my naked body as I'd flawlessly transferred from Chaturanga to Happy Baby on the my sunny poop deck. But, you know what, there's will always be more days on this earth and there will always be bigger helicopters. #believe2016
I was meeting with two copper-level underlings for a little business pep talk. Life, I explained to them, is like the claw machine at the arcade, you have to persevere! If the doll slips from your tenuous grasp you have to drop your quarters into the slot and grab that doll by it's petulant head and drop it into the metal chute of success.
"So life is pointless waste of time where I give someone else all of my money and never get what I want?" inquired sloth one.
"No, life is rigged and you'd be better off spending your money on buying your success at the store instead of trying to snatch it out of some stupid machine" unhelpfully suggested toad two.
Furious at them both for missing the point of my kick ass metaphor, I fired toad two for having too much ambition and possibly being smarter than me and ran to the roof, ordering my helicopter limo pilot to fly me immediately to Circus Circus, the Reno one where no one would recognize me. I ordered the nearest server to bring a yard of martini to the arcade immediately, stuffed a Woodrow Wilson into the change machine and got to work. As the hours ticked by I went through many stages of enlightenment staring into that box of light and promise. Were the prizes imprisoned or ensconced? Was I in the one trapped with them staring pityingly at me? As the hours ticked by with the ticks and tocks replaced by the sound of quarters rolling down a metal ramp and into a box filled up with other quarters, I bargained with myself and with the universe. I didn't need the big-headed Elsa doll to be happy; I could be happy with a light up Paw Patrol key chain or a pack of Fruit Stripe gum. I could live a simpler life and be happy. I could be free of the trappings of cruelty and excess. The claw machine, the great equalizer of men, had put me face-to-face in it's reflective facade with my own weakness, my fragility, my failings. I had won nothing.
As the last call for quarters and gin rang out over the loudspeaker and the lights slowly began to come on overhead, I knew what I had to do. I had Eddie, my executive phone handler, call the owner of the Casino and after some minor negotiations I bought that claw machine. I bought that claw machine and I pushed it from my executive helicopter into the watering hole of a wildlife sanctuary and then pushed that helicopter off of my yacht and into the sea, barely missing a family of sea sponges who I'd felt had been leering snidely at my naked body as I'd flawlessly transferred from Chaturanga to Happy Baby on the my sunny poop deck. But, you know what, there's will always be more days on this earth and there will always be bigger helicopters. #believe2016
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