The Christmas Lights

Dear Christmas Tree,

I recognize that I might not have the stark, conservative look that you’re going for this year. I am not a red globe ornament or a string of white lights. I am however, just as bright as the rest and arguably more festive than any other decoration you have chosen to display.

I started off hanging from a telephone wire in the Hispanic section of town. For several nights out of the year I would glow different colors to symbolize the comfort of home. People loved me. I brought cheer to the poorest of neighborhoods until one day someone said I was a fire hazard. Reluctantly I watched as my place on the block slowly unraveled. Rest assured, my personality would never spark a conversation about destruction. Although I am unique, loved by many, and talked about by all, I do not have a fiery disposition.

My resume includes functions such as: Mardi Gras. Halloween. New Years. And even a few nightclubs. I have experience with all types of people.

While your white and red tree looks quite tasteful in the dining room of our town’s beloved country club, I think it could use a variety of color. I hope you will consider what I have to offer useful.

Sincerely,

– Multicolored Lights

 

http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2015/12/08/coca-cola-yanks-new-racist-christmas-ad-featuring-white-teenagers-doing-good-deeds/

The Elevator

      There once was a girl who lived on top of a building. She knew of only one elevator button. It was through the glass that she saw in horror, the whole world was far beneath her.

       Ants marched in and out of shops. She could barely make out the faces of tired, homeless men, their empty Styrofoam cups splayed out past their legs. The women with their good intentions, held doors open for others, tipping a healthy, but non-boastful, 15% for coffee. Cheap. Their worth combined was still not enough.

       The girl pressed her fingertips to the glass, peering past her own eyes. From the elevator, the world was quiet. A mass of violent energy, silent in its crucifixion of isolation, whirled its body below. How could she ever be a part of it?

       She slammed the elevator button back up. Take me back. She drummed her nails against the rough jean of her pants leg. Go back! She pressed the button again and then again.

       The elevator, caught in its routine, stopped abruptly between the 16th and 17th floors. It was here where she would contemplate her view from the top.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/30/opinion/inequality-and-the-city.html?_r=0

The Office Chair

Dear Office Chair,

We’ve been together a long time now, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to call it quits. When we first met, I was young, flexible, and could handle anything. Even your rigidity.

When we touched, you were like ice. Cold and sturdy, you never caved. At first I thought your solidity was key to our success, but then something happened. I became restless.

My weight was too much for you and I could feel it. When I begged for comfort, you refused. You held fast to your position, making it clear that you would not budge. You would not cradle my body in your non-existent arms. You would not soften my aches and pains.

Last week, I met someone new. Someone who was both sturdy and supportive. You were my first and I will always remember you, but sadly, you are not my last.

-Employee

 

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2015-11-04/tips-for-working-at-a-standing-desk/6908666