My lovely morning reverie was once again perforated by the buckshot of responsibility, in the form of my boss Mr. Paul's approach and subsequent announcement that it is Annual Review Time again, and that he has the responsibility for writing mine. I let the last shred of soulful mood music waft out of my brain before turning to regard Mr. Paul with the blankest look I could muster and a "...Yes, and?"

"And it's up to me to decide whether or not to give you a raise." He fixed me with a stern look.

That he is in charge of my review was not news--it's the same every year, but he never expresses it quite so starkly. I was not thrown, at least not visibly so.

"Oh, you should definitely give me a raise," I said, nodding to give my statement the weight of a foregone conclusion.

"I just wanted you to quake in fear a little," he replied, disappointed that I had remained my usual cool and collected self.

"Let's get back to the raise," I said, at which point he requested that I draw up a list of what he termed my "major accomplishments," and left me to it.

Obviously, my main accomplishment this year has been my failure to quit this job, but I don't know if that's where I should start the list. I don't really have any "accomplishments," per se, unless you count my ability to weasel my way out early each Wednesday to go race sailboats. It's kind of an accomplishment.

I would prefer to be graded on the intangibles: shiny hair, variety of objects displayed on my desk, ability to speak politely to a jackass on the phone while simultaneously displaying "the finger," things like that. Maybe shiny hair is tangible. I mean, you can touch it, if you give me a dollar.

Faced with an empty list, I decided I'd better engage in some PR, so I created the following poem on the office magnet-poetry board (also supplied by me):

I have yet to draw Mr. Paul's attention to it, but I feel that it can't help but bolster his impression that I am a loyal and valuable employee.

Star of the day. . .Don Powell