EMILY, AN EXECUTIVE in a midsize company on the West Coast, could barely contain herself as she told me the story, chortles of laughter bursting from the seams of what she’d intended to be a brisk, professional telling.
She saw her boss, let’s call her Elle Diablo, rushing through the vast cubicle farm that was Emily’s existence, making a beeline for Emily’s pod (which she time-shared with an Elvis-shaped carpet stain and the faint odor of her cube neighbor’s feet).
“Emily!” shouted the Horned One.
“We just got the week’s sales numbers—we’re down again and Carlos will be here tomorrow to declare a full-blown crisis. ...