1. Wait for the snow plows to arrive. Look out window. Realize there will be no snow plows, because your neighborhood is not as important as some others.
2. Look out window. Pretty. Wonder if Mayor Bloomberg’s house and his big office building in midtown are being plowed right at this very moment. Suspect yes.
3. Select shoes, opting for stupidly optimistic loafers with leather soles. Put on scarf. Check BlackBerry for charge in case you get lost in snowdrift and must dial 911. Put on overcoat. Put on gloves. Remember important message that must be sent. Take off gloves. Send message. Put on gloves. Wonder whether anybody else will be at the office. Leave, feeling adventurous, virtuous and slightly demented.
4. Arrive at office. Listen to the silence. Look out window. See one lone snow plow making its way up the avenue. Watch cars spinning out all over the place. Wonder what makes people go to the office when they really don’t have to. Wonder if anybody would notice if you left.
5. Get coffee. Observe all the closed doors up and down the hallway. Notice one door that is open, lights on. Go over to that office. Observe Lester Gormley sitting at his desk in his overcoat, hat still on and covered with snow and ice. “Queens is a frickin’ mess,” he says. Inquire of Lester why he came in in the first place. Watch him think about it. Return to desk.
6. Drink remaining coffee. Consider acquiring another cup from the Starbuck’s machine in the conference room. Decide against it, but reserve options. Look out window. Wonder why the Mayor doesn’t deploy snow plows until AFTER the snow has totally, utterly and completely stopped. Imagine Mayor, sitting in his office, weighing alternatives: totally dysfunctional city vs. budget shortfall. See him choosing former. Wonder how much $$ the city could save if it just did away with snow plows altogether. Allow the very rich to pay for their own shoveling and snow removal. Sort of like the situation with the school system.
7. Change mind on coffee acquisition.
8. Return to desk. Look at clock. See it’s precisely 9:03 and you have been at the office for seven minutes. Wonder what you’re going to do with the next 593 minutes. Look out window.
9. Answer phone. Talk with Roover, who is in his office on another floor. Ascertain you are both free for lunch. Return lots of old e-mail. Sign papers. Play casual game for a while. Remember carpal tunnel situation. Scroll websites. Look out window. Shoot off memo to boss so that he knows you’re on the case. File nails. Floss. Empty one drawer of credenza and toss away contents that have been carefully preserved for a decade. Call Finster, Bortz, Kerman, Lazenby and Snopes, leaving messages, so they know you were on the job when they were sitting at home with a nice hot cup of Ovaltine.
10. Go lunch with Roover. Do not return.
