Ideally

My boss put his head in his hands and groaned. I had just entered his office, my hair dishevelled and twenty minutes late for our scheduled meeting. I didn’t say a word upon entering. He just knew, from the look on my face, that it was time to groan.

He stood up from behind his desk. I stayed close to the door. His desk was littered with no less than a dozen bottles of spring water, each open but mostly full. He twitched when he talked, his voice breaking.

“No ideas?” he asked meekly.

“No ideas,” I confirmed.

“Rats!” he exclaimed. “Rats Rats Rats!” He stood up quickly, pushing back his rolling office chair.

“I’m sorry, chief. I tried.”

His forehead wrinkled to what looked to be an uncomfortable level. He pointed at me sternly, sighed and lowered his hand, only to reverse and point at me again.

“Underwater!” he roared.

I tried to speak. “Uh, chief -…”

“UN. DER. WAT. ER,” he enunciated slowly. “Underwater! Did you look underwater? There are ideas underwater!”

I inched closer to the door. “I looked underwater. I looked everywhere!” I explained.

“Water is an untapped resource!” he intoned, as he started to pace back and forth behind his desk. “Atlantis, scuba diving, steamboats, uhh…”

“Superintelligent sea-giraffes?” I offered.

“Exactly!” he yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “Wait,” he stopped, “What?”

“Superintelligent sea-giraffes,” I said naturally. “They’re giraffes, but, you know, in the sea. And really smart. Super smart.”

“That’s beyond stupid.”

“It’s an idea…”

He got so excited by the word ‘idea’ that he practically jumped. “An idea!”

“But it’s been done,” I finished.

“It’s been done?”

“Yes.”

“Superintelligent Sea Giraffes have been done?”

“Yes.”

“Rats.”

His cheeks were reddening, his wrinkled forehead drenched with sweat.

“Space?” he said quietly.

“Aliens, spaceships, giant wars with lasers, metaphors for loneliness, ruminations on being infinite… it’s all done, chief.”

“Oh no, Oh no, Oh no,” he repeated quietly, pacing again.

“I also tried underground. Like, the earth’s core, mining, breaking rocks, subterranean cities - done, done, done, done, done.”

His feet thundered on the office floor. His eyes scanned the room in a show of twitchy and panicked observation. His gaze fell on the office lamp on his desk and he almost tripped as he bounded two steps towards it and wrapped his hands around its neck.

“Lamps,” he said, determined.

“Lamps?” I questioned.

“What about lamps?”

“Like a lamp that saves the world or like a lamp as a metaphor for the goodness in people?”

“Either one.”

“Done.”

“Which?”

“Both.”

“Rats.”

He sighed deeply, again, and walked around his desk, stopping at the small window that overlooked the parking lot. He stopped and tried to calm himself. He didn’t say anything else.

“I think we’re done, chief,” I said flatly.

He put one hand against the glass and let his body lean into the frame.

“We’ve done everything. It’s over.”

His forehead dropped against the pane with a soft thump, and he gave a sort of depressed chuckle.

“Trees,” he said, nearly inaudibly.

“Trees?” I repeated.

“They grow. They live a long time. Maybe there’s something there.”

It was my turn to sigh. I couldn’t look at him anymore, pressed against the glass, looking like he was a few sentences away from weeping on the floor.

“Done, chief. A long time ago.”

He looked over his shoulder at me, his forehead still wrinkled, a deep sadness in his eyes.
“I guess that’s really all, then,” he admitted. Every word look like it stung.

“I think so,” I said, unwilling to let him see my empathy.

He turned his gaze back to the window, but then quickly turned back to address me. The sadness in his eyes was gone. He spoke quickly, as he pulled himself away from the window and moved towards me.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, “What about having no ideas?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, incredulously, surprised by his sudden bout of determination.

“That’s the idea! Having no ideas!”

“The idea is that there are no more ideas?” I asked.

“Yes. That’s the idea!” He stood three feet away from me. “That’s! The! Idea!” He was exuberant, his face breaking out in smile.

“It’s a good idea,” I admitted, caught up in his happiness.

“Yes!” he bellowed, reaching for my hand.

“But it’s been done.”

“Done?”

“It’s done.”

“Rats.”