Tuesday afternoon felt a lot like a Monday morning before lunch to William Greenfield. The swirling ceiling fan above his desk was greedily keeping pace to the tap, tap, tapping of drawn and quartered venetian blinds hanging cordlessly in the window just at the edge of the fans embraces. Cordless because he had broken them fifteen years ago and maintenance had never come to fix them. A flashing array of lighted call buttons on his phone blinked in staccato, mimicking Christmas lights and he found himself humming a holiday song, but then quickly dismissed the melody because this was June! Had this been his first day of the job he would have hurried to answer every one of those flashing little bastards; but not today on his thirtieth anniversary of holding down this desk chair in one place against a tide of humanity hell-bent on complaining about every dime won or lost. It used to be so simple, the business world that is. Not anymore. The technology of business he could handle, in fact embraced it. But all the other stuff! The social crap of tweeting, snap chatting, instagrams, Facebook, likens and all that e-mail was just impossible to keep up with and way to stressing. Suddenly his office door swung open and his secretary entered with a lighted cake and several of the girls from the steno pool all tumbling into the room singing for he’s a jolly good fellow. Harry from accounting, Marcus from sales as well as Charlie from maintenance were among the group of well-wishers. Once the cake was placed on his desk he could make out the words, “Happy Retirement Boss,” in melted blue icing. Inside he sighed and thought about broken drapes and wondered if Charlie had at last come to fix them.