There is a natural order to things. And this order evidently wants me at the very top of the Mercury building. When it was announced at last week's staff meeting that the Production Department was to occupy our newly-renovated attic, it confirmed what I had long assumed: I am superior to all others.
I have gone so far as to dub our lofty new chalet "The Falcon's Hive," in honor of those tiny, swarming birds of prey. Fearsome when provoked, they also make the sweetest honey. How like the Production Department they are!
From my perch high atop the building, I will be able to monitor, to survey, to toy with the lives of mine enemies, whom God hath delivered unto me! And in exchange, stirringly beautiful designs will drift down, like manna from Heaven, on their way to the musty common people.
I will not miss the first floor and the unwanted attentions of the socially retarded. Goodbye, capricious UPS Man! Adieu, hopeful drummer! Sayonara, disoriented soccer-mom! And as God knows, my co-workers began to grate on my nerves shortly after Day One. The attic is blessedly out of earshot of their tiny triumphs and tearful melodramas.
(Truth be told, there were other grievances, as well. Hygiene was not the least among them. For some time now, my desk's proximity to the downstairs toilet has fostered a growing suspicion that the Lower Departments have only the most tenuous understanding of post-fecal hand-washing. But the whims of the unclean and incontinent were never destined to hold sway! Never again will toilet visits by the infirm and lactose-intolerant distract me from the business of design!)
From humble acorns, mighty oaks grow. The Production Department now rises, venerable and sturdy, proud and verdant, rooted in the thick, pungent manure of Editorial, Sales, and Circulation.
The primal order of nature dictates that for every new life, something must fall in turn. Throw open the window, my friends, and breathe deep! A beautiful new day is dawning, and the cloying stink of death is already heavy in the air!
