Few people want to accomplish things, simply for the sake of accomplishing them. -Intellectual Shaman
The organization can best be described as little boxes stacked on-top of little boxes, full of little men, doing little things. They document everything—even their phone calls, because they think what they have to say is important, and they want to feel important. They get this feeling from telling each other how important they are, but secretly, there is a sense of loss. It might be lost time—the sense that the summer is almost over, and they have to go back to school. Everybody progresses to the next grade, if they made the grade, and the fear of being left behind is worse than being marooned on the open ocean.
A leader rises among the ranks; not necessarily because he is someone others want to follow, but because he has followed the organization so well and for so long, that he deserves a chance to say the mission statement and repeat the rules.
This particular company wants to get to outer space and beyond it, but they have decided to settle for Mars. If they could setup their organization there, Earth would have to recognize them. After several years of perfection, a space craft launches toward the red planet—a six-month trip of cowboy tunes and elevator music. The greatness of SpaceCorp lands on the Martian soil, and the astronauts lumber out of their lander, preparing to read a statement edited by over 20 executives.
The words are transmitted back to earth—there’s a time delay, and one of the astronauts points to an alcove in the red rock, untouched by sandstorms.
“Is that a cooler?”
“I think it is.”
“Do you suppose there’s alien life here?”
“It would have to be below the surface; and that looks like it belongs in a Walmart. See the blue top?” The astronaut pointed. There were undisturbed footprints leading into a cave. When they got inside, there were beer cans everywhere—Budweiser.
“Those beer cans look like they’re at least fifty years old. See the black label?”
“Somebody got here first. But who? Why haven’t we heard of him?”
“Maybe it was an independent outfit—a space cowboy.”
“But doesn’t a cowboy need a rodeo?”
“This one didn’t.”
“What will be tell the people back home?”
“We got here first.”
Not one of them escaped a little box.