(T)

hanging, just a thin layer of grease. We line up and move through the line slowly, hopping for a new recipe. Alas, the food choices are the same as usual: wilted salad, lumpy mashed potatoes with salty gravy, and a fatty chicken thigh. The most colorful time in the food line is the dessert jiggly gelation but I never pick up a bowl. That would really mean that I was in prison…or a hospital . Thirty minutes later, we are back in our cubicles, preparing for our afternoon meetings. The enormous conference room contains an oval conference table with twenty shabby chairs. Like clockwork, the supervisor enters at precisely the same time each day. She reads through her routine listen of problems and concerns. As employees, we do not speak. We sit like prisoners and listen to our warden’s robotic voice telling us what we are doing well and what we are doing wrong. We are also given reports to fill out during these meetings. There is no room for creativity in these reports. The multiple-choice answers require only a quick check mark. After that, I go back to work on the chain gang. I answer phone calls, input information in the computer, and glance at my watch. Time seems to stand still, but somehow, I always make it to 5:00pm. That is my professional life. I make a good living, and my salary allows me to live comfortably. However, the atmosphere is oppressive. I walk into my office building, and my creative thought processes shut down. This mindless feeling continues until I drive out of the parking lot. If I were a stronger person, perhaps I would think about changing careers. However, everyone knows the stories of prisoners who are finally released from jail. Many of them find that they miss the routines of a prisoners, and they end up going back.