Once upon a time there was a fairly big guy sitting in a chair at his desk in a cubicle in a rather smallish room at the end of a hall in an office building he shared with the rest of the minions who worked for a medium-sized company in a smallish town in what is called the Pacific Northwest.
His job wasn't overly complicated and it certainly wasn't strenuous. It was a satisfactory arrangement in which the fairly big guy would clackety-clack on the keyboard to validate the quality of a fairly important product that could not leave the factory until the very last clack had been clickety'd. The fairly big guy was a link in a fairly short chain that went around and around supplying fairly important product.
And all was right and good as the wheels went around and around.
The hours were long and more often than not the fairly big guy remained in his chair from six in the morning until ten at night- and often enough it was seven days each week. Times were good for the medium-sized company.
It grew.
The fairly big guy loved production. He loved industry. Moving product meant success and success required the clickety-clack of the keys. He would leave his chair only when biology required it and because the facilities were close he moved very little. He ate at his desk and because his office was windowless and his hours were long, he would not see the sun for several days at a time. No breaks meant more production and production was good. The fairly big guy would eat things that didn't require stopping or looking away from his work. He worked through breakfast, he worked through lunch, he worked through dinner. Clickety-clack.
His lunchbox grew.
It had to- he was carrying a full day's worth of meals. He tried to load as many nutritious things as he could into his lunchbox (which had grown from a little brown bag into a cooler). The fairly big guy had developed an appetite for the "good" stuff; processed meats and cheese, packaged foods, snack cakes, and grapes by the bunch. He didn't go thirsty either, not with ll the room he had for soda in his nice big cooler.
He grew.
Screech! Hit the brakes and back the truck up! I don't like where this fairy tale is heading. Sounds to me like the protagonist here is going on to build a house of straw and live in hog heaven until the big, bad, hypertension and diabetes monster huffs and puffs and blows is house down. Then that proud porker will find out what hog heaven is really all about; dead hogs.
OK, so that fat little piggy protagonist and fairly big guy is/was me. My story changed a little when I decided that it was time to start building my house out of bricks and wee, wee, wee, run all the way to the gym. Something I'm still doing. It's adding a longer and happier ending to my story.
The moral here? If I get off my ass and get moving I may not have to wee, wee, wee, down to the funeral home any time soon.
Heh...not the kind of story I will read my daughter but definitely one I need to read.
Heh, Thats a scary little fairy tale there. The line that hit me was "His lunchbox grew" mainly because that along with fastfood became one of my bad eating habbits.
Oh man, And even worse was that I was drinking something worse than soda because they would give me cases for free at work. Energy Drinks. That has to be the dumbest popular drink out there today.
Steve, you're awesome! :) I loved your fairytale story.