text: The man himself is coming to tell us--Vice President Numb Nuts. He's such a spineless wimp. How did he ever become a vice president? I'll tell you how. It's because Boeing is not what it used to be. That's it. Its current level of incompetence is staggering. I used to be proud to be part of this company, but those days have long vanished. And sitting over there is another reason I've lost confidence: Clark Suck-face Truman. Look at him all smug and confident. I can see what he's thinking. He's such an open book. He's thinking of his thank you speech for choosing him as the team lead. And who am I kidding? Numb Nuts is probably going to do just that. He wouldn't know talent if it bit him on his overworked posterior. I'm the only one who knows my value. I would make a great lead, but they will never give me the opportunity. They are a bunch of idiots--the whole company is full of them. "Thank you all for coming," Vice President Chumley Lutz said. "I'm here to choose a team for the Quad Rotor Aerial Vehicle project. I'm very excited about this. I hope everyone here is as excited." We clapped. Although, I don't know why. We looked like a flock of muppets. "I'm appointing Clark Truman as the team lead." Of course, he did. I don't know why I let myself get all worked up. Why do I allow myself to hope? The twit babbled on and on until he stopped and made eye contact with me. "Now for the backbone of the team - Bob Sparks. Come on up, Bob." I gazed at him. He thinks I don't know, but I know what he's doing--parading me in front of everyone like an old tiger at a circus. I capitulated, stood beside our illustrious potentate, and smiled. I know how to act. I put on my gracious face and shook Numb Nuts' hand. After my award-winning performance, the meeting ended, and I returned to my office. A memo on my desk told me to see the company shrink immediately. What the heck? Why would Bug Eyes need to see me? "Hello, Bob. Come in and have a seat," Dorothy Flingmyer said. I sat and tried not to stare at her enormous eyeglasses. They had to be an inch thick. "Bob, do you know why I asked you here?" "No, I don't. You see, I'm not a shrink, so I don't have all the answers." She ignored me. "I asked you here to discuss your recent behavior with Trent Holfax. Do you recall the incident?" "Are you referring to the incident when I informed Mr. Trident...excuse me, Trent...that his calculations would turn our plane into a submarine? Or when I told him McDonald's was hiring, and he could use me as a reference? Or the incident when I suggested his degree must have come from a state college because it was the only explanation for his ignorance of aeronautical engineering? Or...” "That's enough, Mr. Sparks. It's obvious you recall." She lowered her glasses and looked at me. "You understand this type of behavior is unacceptable?" "You mean telling the truth is unacceptable?" "You know what I mean. You tend to see only the negatives in people, and your belittling manner is appalling." "Did you say appealing?" "Mr. Sparks, you need to take this meeting seriously. Your position here is on the line. If I don't see significant change, Boeing will release you." She adjusted her glasses. "I believe we are going to be able to work this out. I think some simple exercises can tame your cynical attitude." "Push-ups? Sit ups? Squats?" "Please don't interrupt, Mr. Sparks," she straightened. "I want you to keep a gratitude journal for several weeks. We will meet again next month and go over it together. If I see progress, then all is good. Understand?" "So, I tell you about my crushes, my favorite teacher, and how my mom doesn't understand me?" "You have a problem, Mr. Sparks. I expect thirty entries on how grateful you are on various subjects." Well, I did what she said. It's an entire month of mushy stuff and puffy praise. I wonder if this was some disciplinary tactic. Who has ever heard of a gratitude journal? "I see you used a five-year diary. Pink. With a lock," Dorothy Flingmyer said with a look of disdain mixed with unbelief. "Only the best for this assignment." She cleared her throat, "Well, let's begin." She flipped through a few pages, counting the entries. "I see you have thirty. Very good." "Actually, I have thirty-one entries. You must have missed one." She counted again, "Ah, yes. There are thirty-one." She opened the first page and read: May, 9th, 2024 I'm grateful it's Thursday. Although, Friday would be better. May 10th, 2024 I'm grateful it's no longer Thursday because Friday is undeniably better. May 11th, 2024 I'm grateful it's Saturday because, unlike Friday, I won't have to see Trident or Suck-face. She huffed, "Are there any entries not evolving Friday?" "Um," I combed through my mind. "Yes, skip to May 18th." May 18th, 2024 I'm grateful our team wasn't given an important project since it mainly comprised of baboons. My 19th, 2024 I'm grateful that Boeing's new policy of hiring nincompoops makes me look better. May 20th, 2024 I'm glad Suck-face didn't call me champ today. "She put down the diary in frustration, "Who is Suck-face?" "Clark Truman." I gave her an innocent look. "I'm sorry, I thought it was obvious." "From now on, I want you to refer to him by his real name." I mentally searched, "I did. See May 30th." May 30th, 2024 I'm grateful I almost forgot Suck-face's real name is Clark Truman. "Mr. Sparks, I'm afraid I won't be able to recommend you remain at Boeing. Did you even try?" "I understand, but if you could read the last entries, you might change your mind." June 6th, 2024 I'm grateful for Mrs. Flingmyer's suggestion to write this journal. After reading my earlier entries, I see how negative I've become, and seeing the problem is half the battle. June 7th, 2024 I'm grateful for renewed interest. After ten years, I dusted off my old fiddle and was surprised at how much I remembered. Letting go of my negative attitude has rekindled my joy of fiddling. June 8th, 2024 I'm grateful for our follow-up meeting on Monday. I have so much to share. "I'm impressed, Mr. Sparks. It seems our little exercise has benefited you immensely. I knew if you could see the truth, you would come around. I will recommend you stay with us, provided you continue journaling." "You couldn't stop me if you tried." We ended the meeting with a friendly hug. I walked out thinking about how to thwart Suck-face's proposal to allow our Quad to run on multiple fuels. He's such an ignoramus. Oh, and I can't wait to get Trident in a corner. He's almost too easy, but I will enjoy destroying him anyway. His elementary ideas deserve it. I'm grateful I found my fiddle. It reminded me it wasn't the only thing I could play like a fiddle.