What is your ECD ?

I was in a meeting this afternoon; nothing special, just the weekly confessional.

“What did you do?”
“What is your ECD (estimated completion date)?”
“What are you going to do this week?”

The meeting was held in the extra large and fancy executive meeting room on the 15th floor. The chairs are covered in red velvet and there is a huge round table more befitting King Arthur than a bunch of computer geeks. The best thing about the room, though, is the view. One entire side of the room is glass from the floor to the ceiling. It faces north into Marietta and further on into Tennessee. On any day you can look out and down onto the tangled intermingling of gray ribbon highways. Eighteen wheeled monsters muscle out lesser vehicles as they merge and weave there way through the traffic. Cars break down and well meaning police and ambulance drivers worsen the situation with their hypnotic rubber neck inspiring lights.

Today, however God threw rain at those windows. At first the rain came in small taps, like a shy kid knocking at your door. Then the tapping became more urgent and adamant for attention. I looked over from my slice of the round table and saw the blankets of rain swirling and twisting. The rain was riding on an invisible wave that smashed against the mirrored exterior of the building and sent it sprawling in all directions. The thunder that had been building in the distance was now booming and close and lightning bolts burst like capillaries in the sky. In an instant I was looking out the window of my third grade class onto the playground.

There was a retarded kid named Eddie that sat behind me and made sounds like the wind blowing (when he wasn’t eating red crayons). The wind sound that Eddie made was so realistic that he could break your arm out in goose bumps from the anticipation of the chill. Many days I thought that there was a white squall minutes away from destroying the school only to realize the storm had originated from Eddie’s mouth. Once I went to a birthday party for Eddie and learned that I was way too obedient to win at Simon Says.

“Simon says Standup”.
And I would stand up.
“Sit down”.
And I would sit down.

I was the first one out, three times in a row and the early loser of the game. I sat and pouted as the other kids played out the remainder of the game.

“Pin the tail on the donkey, now that is a game” I said to myself.
“Simon Says is for babies” I added to make myself smile.

A huge crack of thunder split the air like a strike from God’s bowling alley and I was back in my slice of the meeting table.

“GS3 what have you been doing this week” my manager asked ready to document my response”

“Looking out the window” I said in my little voice.
“Looking out the window”.