Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Picture, No Text

In the foreground, a pig like man grins, his right, hoof like hand interlocked with that of a scrawny young associate. Both well dressed men are smiling animal like, that is to say they are not really smiling, as animals don’t really smile. Their smile is more of a grimace, a glair to show their teeth to potential enemies and known assailants. Between the men, a document is suspended by a left hoof and a long, thin fingered hand. Pigman’s face, however, is rather rough shaven, a peculiar contrast to adroitness of his dress and distinguished position in the upper echelons of our organisation.

This may reflect a move away from the traditional autocratic, hierarchical approach to management in favour of a more informal, fluid, team approach where every ones your buddy. Or it may signify that the Pigman didn’t have time to shave this morning.

Sometimes I practice the animal smile. When I hold the door open for a woman and she doesn’t say thanks, when I pass someone I don’t like in the hall way, when the lady at check out doesn’t say please or thank you, I animal smile.

The two men are standing in the middle of an office area. If you look in the background it is not hard to make me out, standing beside my desk, with the full contents of a plastic cup of water spilled down my crotch.

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