The Great Escape

“This is a meeting to review your progress,”
says the HR person, sitting with my boss
on the other side of the table.

“Okay,” I say.

“How do you feel you are succeeding in your mission?”

They stare at me, unsmiling.

A number of factors are conspiring against me.
I don’t know how I feel about things, generally.
I doubt any of us ever really succeed in anything.
And I can’t remember what my mission is.

What I do have going for me,
the ace up my sleeve,
is my skill in bullshitting my way out of trouble.

“It’s a good question, and I’m glad you ask,” I say.
“I’d actually be very interested to hear your thoughts.
That way I’ll be able to tailor my response,
addressing any particular priorities or concerns.”

I smile at them.

“No thanks. You first,” says my boss.

My gaze wanders to the open window.
It’s only a short drop down to the flower bed.
I could be in Paris by dusk.


			

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