
ALT As the staff meeting dragged on into a third hour, Clem started to fidget. He shifted his weight in the uncomfortable meeting room chair. He tapped his toes to an unheard beat. His fingers started to itch. His movements earned glances from his colleagues around the table. He caught Bill’s eye and knew he couldn’t wait any longer. Clem leapt from his chair, ran from the room, and sprinted to his cubicle. Within, he grabbed his fife. Trilling his way back into the meeting, he disrupted the business endeavor. “Clement!” berated the district manager. “What are you doing?” Clem continue playing his tune. “Come on,” said Bill half-heartedly, not really on management’s side, “now is no time for the fife.” “Hey,” said Clem between melodies, “surely it’s fife o’clock somewhere.”



























