Eyes on the Prize

In the recent collection of paperwork stuffed in my mailbox at work, I separated a flyer from the rest of the pile. The flyer informed me that I am entitled to collect my 20 year Service Award in this my 21st year of uninterrupted employment. Better late than never. Ironically, the award has nothing to do with actual service or performance. It is a benchmark measure of attrition. As I held the flyer to the light, I thought of the warped sense of accomplishment to have survived enough battles to still be in the war after two decades. The actual awards, however, left a lot to be desired:

• Behind door #1 we have a lovely picture frame clock so I can watch the rest of my life pass by next to a photo of the family I miss. I have seen similar models in upscale Dollar Stores.
• Function and practicality burst out of door #2. A sturdy leather portfolio so I can carry around even more work. Honestly, I got enough baggage in my life.
• Nothing but class and eloquence awaits the prize behind door #3. A bankers style desk lamp. Comes already assembled and complete with its own lightbulb. Too bad my desk has been broken for the last 13 years. One of the legs detaches itself from the frame. Without warning, my desk collapses on my lap and everything slides off. I don't want to add another tabletop prop to the disaster waiting to happen.

• I selected the crown jewel for my servitude - A Palm pilot with inadequate memory since replaced by two later models. Batteries not included.

All awards contain an official seal of your employee making resale value on Ebay virtually non-existent. Not unlike previous awards, one day in the future I will find the Palm pilot next to my desk. There will be no ceremony, acknowledgement, or handshake from anyone of importance just business as usual. Even a lousy parking ticket gets handed to you. I love my vocation so I do not want to come off sounding jaded but 20 dedicated years of one's life deserves more formalized recognition. My employer could revamp the Service Awards.

I don't want to get ahead of myself but I just got to toil another quarter of a century for the 45 year service award: a golf bag. Working nearly 50 years of my life for a golf bag with a $29.99 suggested retail value is not par for the course. A bitter man might call that catty(caddy) every time the alarm clock sounds in the morning.