Dear Mr. VP,
I’d like to go in for some extended metaphor, linked to yesterday’s letter.
I got home early this afternoon and, fortified with brunch foods and a Bloody Maria and approximately six cups of coffee, I decided to tackle phase two of the trash project.
While the trash bag itself was gone, still lurking in the trash bin was a bog of cloudy, stinking, stagnant water and a collection of disposable coffee cups that had made their way out of trash bags at some point.
I wheeled the trash bin down to the edge of the yard and into the weeds. I took a giant breath, closed my eyes, and dumped over the bin. A river of sludge poured into the weeds. Some of it got onto my shoes. I grabbed a trash bag, stepped into a puddle of death, and picked the coffee cups out of the mess. An hour and several vigorous scrubs later I can still smell the stink on my hands.
I wheeled the bin back up the driveway and dumped half a bottle of Mrs. Meyers lavender cleaner inside. Now the bin still smells like the hellmouth but with a slightly floral overlay. Eventually I’ll leave it open in some rain and hope it all goes away.
So….I couldn’t have dealt with the sludge if I hadn’t taken out the trash bag, right? But neither could I just deal with the trash bag and leave the water to stay and stink up my life for the next three years.
Yeah, ok, it’s a stretch. But all this is to say that if your boss goes, I have no intention of sitting back and letting you do whatever you want. He NEEDS to go, but the miasma below him needs to be held accountable, too.