Tender

There was a time we had functional alignment. I was your individual contributor, you my associate director. On Monday I said Happy Monday, rolling my rimshot grin. Ring-fenced by cool molecules, like cattle, I battled biosimilars, sipped local gin; I tried my luck at affairs and trade fairs, optimistic as a fantasy suite. I inked the deal, the ink slick and permanent, like President Reagan. I didn’t sleep unless I felt sick. Something was always gated on a fragile something. Everything on the critical path. The whiteboard, cruel as conceptual math, scope creep like a disease. Some of those days, our parent showed up, bespoke shoes bearing Leckerli. I felt like a starlet on a cruisy backlot, an outpost of opportunity. I took on a new role, went through the motions and the typing pool. But the bonus was no bonus, any more than the bay. Like tender, it started to fray. My admin booked a good weekend of atrocity. I winced. I slid the To-Hurt folder below a molecule’s Package Insert. Then came the Efficiency Report, my resignation. I packed up the brood for Orlando, a last resort. I cut off my khaki pants at the knee, traded in the wife — this is the Epcot Center of my life! I want to thank you in advance. I’d fallen out of favor, like a nation.