Picture it...
...you're sitting in a meeting. The facilitator is yammering something about budgets, cuts and precisely how much smaller your paycheck will be within the next two years.
Your colleagues around the table grip their pens much more tightly than necessary because they're trying not to stab themselves in the eyes with them. Other employees pass by the long, slim window next to the only exit door, glance in curiously, then hurry away before they too get sucked into the horrid Meeting-Vortex-of-Doom.
You lean forward in your chair, realizing that you must appear to be present and professional despite the fact that your sweaty buttcheeks have left a moist double half-moon impression on the ugly blue vinyl chair you're sitting on.
Then, suddenly....
shhhhhhhTONG!!!! shhhhhhTONG!!!
You instantly crouch. Without looking, you already hold two spikey metal throwing stars in your hands that you had stashed in your black leather Dansko clogs (just in case). You rip off your L.L. Bean cardigan to reveal your black cotton ninja attire. You slip out the door, crawl up the wall and inch along the ceiling of the hallway while flinging deadly stars at unsuspecting targets (some of whom are NOT ninjas, but hey...they REALLY shouldn't be there, SHOULD they.)
You've shimmied out the back door and escaped to your getaway Honda Civic (black, of course). You race to your secret hideout, pour yourself a nice cool beer and rehearse how you're going to explain assassinating 12 random people just to get out of a staff meeting.
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