WE ARE CAREENING DOWN a long stairway in a Peugot. At bottom we turn left going upstream on a one-way road. To avoid oncoming traffic I bounce onto the sidewalk and pedestrians are diving into the Seine to get out of our way. We’re not going fast enough. I tromp my foot into the floor as though I’m operating an electric amusement park bumper car and the Peugot lurches forward. A plume of blue smoke pours out of the exhaust. It looks as though the sidewalk is going to have to keep serving as there is a traffic jam up ahead. I know that on flat open highway I’m toast in this tiny three cylinder two-seater. So long as I stay in congested parts of the old city I can probably keep from losing ground. The “shred” pile in the blue recycling box is full. I grab a cardboard box recently emptied; jam it full closing the flaps in criss cross fashion. Then I turn back to the massive pile of documents that has been collecting in the basement of my College office for at least two years and which has been blocking my station wagon’s access to one of my garage’s bays since we moved offices back in November. I look over my shoulder and can hear the whine of the motorcycles as they close in. I’m going to have to do something fast. I grab the contents of one of the boxes and shovel papers one way and then the other. Shred. Recycle. Shred. Recycle. Events. Hours working late on draft agendas. Lists. Proposals. Recommendations. Pleadings. Budgets. Revised budgets. Revised revised budgets. Personnel reports. Receive a half second. A full second? No! I’ll never get through all of this at this rate.
A chunk of my working life is exploding before me and all I can think about is the convenience of not having to brush snow off of my car before my morning drive to my new office in downtown Minneapolis. If I can’t get just a little more speed out of this tiny car or find some new strategy, those guys on the motorcycles are going to run us to ground.