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  MAINTAINING A BUOYANT ATTITUDE
    by Greg Borek
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  (Early today)
      
  Dearest Edna,
  
    I hope this e-mail finds you happy and well. The six weeks
  we have been married have easily been the happiest period of my
  life. My life diminishes every moment I am not gazing on your
  beauteous countenance. I am counting the nanoseconds until I can
  once again gaze on your perfection.
      
    But alas, I do not know if this will be possible. I do not
  want to cause panic or alarm, but . . . I fear for my own safety.
  I hope I can survive the afternoon.
      
    Let me explain. This new company I have started to work for
  seemed so perfect at the outset: every one was so friendly, the
  work was interesting, and they are environmentally friendly. The
  fanatic company enthusiasm seemed so harmless, even fun at the
  beginning. The genius boy-wonder CEO with his boundless energy
  and enthusiasm infected the whole company with a wonderful sense
  of wonder and synergy. People pitch in because they want to
  contribute and no amount of extra hours is an imposition.
      
    Well, I had no idea that the self-proclaimed renaissance man
  CEO fancies himself an architect and civil engineer to boot! He
  designed the company building. Very attractive but most of the
  construction work was done by programmers, electrical engineers,
  and secretaries, just rolling up their sleeves and pitching in
  after work. Enthusiasm is one thing but construction professionals 
  need to be involved somewhere! Apparently the boy-wonder did not 
  design the water main large enough, and given the amateur 
  construction crew . . .
  
  Boss: Bidwell! There you are! What are you doing hiding in your
        cubicle? The whitewater races are starting any minute!
  
  Bidwell: Sorry, boss, didn't hear you come up in your inner tube.
           Just sending off some e-mail while the water is still 
           below desk level. Say, that is a large inner tube, isn't 
           it?
  
  Boss: Yes, I got it off of Wilkin's truck, poor devil. Drowned, 
        you know.
  
  Bidwell: No, I hadn't heard about Wilkins, only Bronson, Weatherly,
           and Pratt.
  
  Boss: Well, we also lost several secretaries so far today. They 
        went snorkeling down to the ground floor to try and get the 
        mail. None of them made it back. Not enough lung capacity, 
        you see. You would have thought they adapted to the water 
        more easily -- I mean they are kept in a "secretarial pool." 
        Ha, ha. Not bad, heh? I made it up myself. Anyway, Johnson 
        volunteered to have a go, but I wouldn't let him of course. 
        We can afford to pay insurance policies on secretaries but--
  
  Bidwell: Exactly how deep would you say the water is now?
  
  Boss: About three feet here on the third floor . . . Bidwell! Am 
        I detecting an attitude that is in a directly contradictory 
        orientation to the prevailing company morale? Now, no more 
        of that sort of negative talk. I might remind you as a new
        employee you are still on probation.
  
  Bidwell: Yes, sir. In fact, I was just going to mention how clever
           the CEO was for designing all of the electric cords to run
           along the top of the cubicles in the event of just such an
           emergency. Sheer genius to have anticipated this kind of
           situation ahead of time. Makes me glad just to be alive!
  
  Boss: Now, that's the spirit! Yes, it's wonderful to see everyone
        pitching in. Some guys in marketing have made a very amateur
        submarine from some of the larger packing crates. I doubt it
        will actually work with all of those styrofoam peanuts in it,
        but it's the idea that counts. The missile tracking system is
        quite impressive, though. They boys from the first floor
        helped them with it, of course. Well, before, well you know.
        Anyway, we should be able to sell the tracking system . . . .
  
  Bidwell: I was going to try and scuba down to the cafeteria and see
           if I could get my lunch from the refrigerator, but I wanted
           to wait until Pratt got back. He had some hair-brained idea
           of using one of the 21 inch monitors as a diving bell, but
           he forgot to check the length of the cable.
  
  Boss: A clear example of the sort of employees we do not need here 
        in our little human aquarium, isn't that true Bidwell?
  
  Bidwell: Of course not, sir. Attention to detail. I managed to
           create a pair of water wings from two rules, 28 paper 
           clips, my mouse cable, and most of the shrink wrap from 
           the unopened manuals in my cubicle. Fully functional. I 
           even used them on my trip down to the rest room on the 
           second floor.
  
  Boss: Very practical and quite fashionable as well.
  
  Bidwell: Thank you sir. I look forward to wearing them to some
           public events. Did you say there were whitewater races?
  
  Boss: Oh my God! I forgot! The guys in marketing have made several
        dugout canoes from the copier machines on the fourth floor.
        The water coming from the pipe on the roof is at such velocity
        that they can ride them down the stairs. Mind you, it won't be
        as exciting as it was when the water was in the basement, but
        still a thrill. Good for everyone's morale -- except for
        Wilkins -- that's how he bought the farm, poor devil. Anyway,
        let's go before we're below the finish line.
  
  Bidwell: Couldn't anyone just open one of the windows or doors to 
           the outside of the building?
  
  Boss: What? Whatever for? Listen, Bidwell, there is no problem
        here. This negative thinking doesn't help anyone and the
        sooner you realize that fact the better it will go for your
        career young man. Do I make myself clear? Now, grab your
        water wings and come along!
  
  Bidwell: Yes, sir, lead the way -- I'm Australian crawling right 
           after you.
  
                                  {DREAM}
  
  Copyright 1996 Greg Borek, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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  Greg Borek is a C programmer in Falls Church, VA. He has previously
  been mistaken for a vampire. Greg can be reached via e-mail at:
  gborek@dreamforge.com
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