Vacation By Default: Part 1: Tuesday
Youre surveying the computer screena fresh row of unanswered emailsand mooting whether you should delve into them.
February 29. 8:14: File-sharing (last weeks memos)
February 29. 8:15: Newswires Latest
February 29. 9:05: Unexplored demographic?
February 29: 9:57: Executive Summary update
And so on.
The time is eleven a.m., the day Tuesdaythe half-way mark to the weeks midpoint, which is technically lunch time tomorrow. Hump Day is what the early morning radio-show hosts at 95.7 FM call Wednesday. And tomorrow morning, when you wake up at six, theyll applaud, toot birthday party blow-outs, and play the cha-cha-cha in the background. Its a weekly celebration, a memorable event, like when TV evangelists cast out demons on Sundays, every weekend.
But the apex of your week usually culminates by late Thursday afternoon. Its not a planned milestone, but one you arrive at by default. This is it, youll tell yourself as you rub your eyes. Ill finish this report today. Tomorrow Ill go through last weeks memos. And staring at the clock, The emails . Ill get those done on Saturday. And thats itSunday, Im off.
The phone rings. Call-display shows its Rasmus, one of the companys partners, a visionaryor so he became since the company went public. You anticipate that the call will require all your faculties, so you close the six open windows on your computers desktop.
He tells you about a market segments new niche. Its going mainstream, he says with the news blaring in the background. In two months the Oprah Show will have guest experts to talk about it.
For a moment youre puzzled. His email yesterday morning with the subject Kicking Off The week explained this already.
You tell him I read the , but he cuts you off. You find yourself staring into the photo on your computers desktop, and paying him just enough attention to hear a lapse so you can interrupt him, and make him stop.
The photographer had taken the shot from a cliff on the Azorean coast, one covered with grass and bestrewn with violet Kaffir Lilies. The turquoise water by the shore contrasts with the cool blue sea surf of the Atlantic. Your view of an old skiff with an orange sail is blocked by an icon of an Excel-file document titled Discounted Cash Flow Analysis. The attachment had somehow made it to your desktop from a promiscuous, company-wide email from the accountant. Like an STD, you must get rid of it. You move the icon to the side of the desktop, but its manifestation there covers a patch of budding shrubs. That wont do either, you think.
Out of instinct you look over your shoulder, as if someone were watching you. You shake your head, laugh at yourself, then click the icon and drag it to the computers Trash Bin. The voice on the phone is asking you something.
What do you mean? you say, hoping hell repeat the question. You acknowledge that you missed your chance to end his monologue.
Well, with the numbers I just told you, and considering the projected growth weve made for the next two years, Im not sure, it seems that .
Your attention wanders again. You notice the icon of a PDF-file covering the white peak of a wave caught at the moment before breaking. The file name begins with REC.4267 . You click the PDF and delete it. What was it? you ask yourself. What if it was important?
Your inner-voice is interrupted by Rasmuss babble. You realize youre even letting him deprive you of your self-doubt.
You carry out an icon blitzkrieg. You target unsuspecting shortcuts. You drag entire file folders to the Trash Bin. You pause before selecting Mp3 recordings of last weeks conference calls, thinking you should save them for some kind of record. You highlight the four of them, connecting them like a fuse, and click Yes, detonating them all at once.
From the receiver flows more prattle, and you wonder whether Rasmus knows how adrift he is. Then it hits youright now he is the coxswain, and you his helmsman, fulfilling the wayward journey.
You right-click the Trash Bin and stop before erasing its burden. If we can just utilize what we know , Rasmus says. You rub your foreheadyou hate the word utilizeand click OK. As if mocking you, the computer asks whether youre sure you want to empty the contents of the Trash Bin. No, you answer in your head. I want to keep my putrefying garbage in the kitchen for another week. Still, the computers programmed second-guessing proves to be contagious. You become aware of doubt swelling in your mind, spoiling your resolve. Are you sure you want to delete everything? Forever? You could file it away, make a backup copy. You consider the importance of the financial charts you will sacrifice, the projections, the news updates. It could be embarrassing to ask somebody for a file you should have already had. You take a long, deep breath. You cant think right now.
Rasmus, you say. Concerning all this stuff youre explaining. I mean, whats the decision we have to make?
Silence.
You thought sono decision, no purpose. The true wind is priming, the sails are slack, and youre anchored at dock trying to find your compass.
Well, he says, if there were a decision to make right now, it would probably be .
There is a decision to make right now, you tell yourself. And like a judge in a courtroom at 16:58, you pronounce the verdict guilty and bring down the gavel. You click OK and the Trash Bin is empty.
You widen your eyes to take in the pictures colors. In real life you would have to squint because of the abundance of light and sea spray. You imagine yourself sitting starboard, taking the tiller and lowering the rudder into the water. The sail expands and you slowly disappear into the horizon.
(Part 2 of Vacation by default will follow soon)
February 29. 8:14: File-sharing (last weeks memos)
February 29. 8:15: Newswires Latest
February 29. 9:05: Unexplored demographic?
February 29: 9:57: Executive Summary update
And so on.
The time is eleven a.m., the day Tuesdaythe half-way mark to the weeks midpoint, which is technically lunch time tomorrow. Hump Day is what the early morning radio-show hosts at 95.7 FM call Wednesday. And tomorrow morning, when you wake up at six, theyll applaud, toot birthday party blow-outs, and play the cha-cha-cha in the background. Its a weekly celebration, a memorable event, like when TV evangelists cast out demons on Sundays, every weekend.
But the apex of your week usually culminates by late Thursday afternoon. Its not a planned milestone, but one you arrive at by default. This is it, youll tell yourself as you rub your eyes. Ill finish this report today. Tomorrow Ill go through last weeks memos. And staring at the clock, The emails . Ill get those done on Saturday. And thats itSunday, Im off.
The phone rings. Call-display shows its Rasmus, one of the companys partners, a visionaryor so he became since the company went public. You anticipate that the call will require all your faculties, so you close the six open windows on your computers desktop.
He tells you about a market segments new niche. Its going mainstream, he says with the news blaring in the background. In two months the Oprah Show will have guest experts to talk about it.
For a moment youre puzzled. His email yesterday morning with the subject Kicking Off The week explained this already.
You tell him I read the , but he cuts you off. You find yourself staring into the photo on your computers desktop, and paying him just enough attention to hear a lapse so you can interrupt him, and make him stop.
The photographer had taken the shot from a cliff on the Azorean coast, one covered with grass and bestrewn with violet Kaffir Lilies. The turquoise water by the shore contrasts with the cool blue sea surf of the Atlantic. Your view of an old skiff with an orange sail is blocked by an icon of an Excel-file document titled Discounted Cash Flow Analysis. The attachment had somehow made it to your desktop from a promiscuous, company-wide email from the accountant. Like an STD, you must get rid of it. You move the icon to the side of the desktop, but its manifestation there covers a patch of budding shrubs. That wont do either, you think.
Out of instinct you look over your shoulder, as if someone were watching you. You shake your head, laugh at yourself, then click the icon and drag it to the computers Trash Bin. The voice on the phone is asking you something.
What do you mean? you say, hoping hell repeat the question. You acknowledge that you missed your chance to end his monologue.
Well, with the numbers I just told you, and considering the projected growth weve made for the next two years, Im not sure, it seems that .
Your attention wanders again. You notice the icon of a PDF-file covering the white peak of a wave caught at the moment before breaking. The file name begins with REC.4267 . You click the PDF and delete it. What was it? you ask yourself. What if it was important?
Your inner-voice is interrupted by Rasmuss babble. You realize youre even letting him deprive you of your self-doubt.
You carry out an icon blitzkrieg. You target unsuspecting shortcuts. You drag entire file folders to the Trash Bin. You pause before selecting Mp3 recordings of last weeks conference calls, thinking you should save them for some kind of record. You highlight the four of them, connecting them like a fuse, and click Yes, detonating them all at once.
From the receiver flows more prattle, and you wonder whether Rasmus knows how adrift he is. Then it hits youright now he is the coxswain, and you his helmsman, fulfilling the wayward journey.
You right-click the Trash Bin and stop before erasing its burden. If we can just utilize what we know , Rasmus says. You rub your foreheadyou hate the word utilizeand click OK. As if mocking you, the computer asks whether youre sure you want to empty the contents of the Trash Bin. No, you answer in your head. I want to keep my putrefying garbage in the kitchen for another week. Still, the computers programmed second-guessing proves to be contagious. You become aware of doubt swelling in your mind, spoiling your resolve. Are you sure you want to delete everything? Forever? You could file it away, make a backup copy. You consider the importance of the financial charts you will sacrifice, the projections, the news updates. It could be embarrassing to ask somebody for a file you should have already had. You take a long, deep breath. You cant think right now.
Rasmus, you say. Concerning all this stuff youre explaining. I mean, whats the decision we have to make?
Silence.
You thought sono decision, no purpose. The true wind is priming, the sails are slack, and youre anchored at dock trying to find your compass.
Well, he says, if there were a decision to make right now, it would probably be .
There is a decision to make right now, you tell yourself. And like a judge in a courtroom at 16:58, you pronounce the verdict guilty and bring down the gavel. You click OK and the Trash Bin is empty.
You widen your eyes to take in the pictures colors. In real life you would have to squint because of the abundance of light and sea spray. You imagine yourself sitting starboard, taking the tiller and lowering the rudder into the water. The sail expands and you slowly disappear into the horizon.
(Part 2 of Vacation by default will follow soon)
Source...