Last year, my boss told me that our company was introducing a dress-down Friday policy. ‘What a great idea,’ I thought. So I waited patiently until Friday, then I went up to my boss and gave him a dressing down. I said ‘you’re mean, bad at your job and socially awkward.’
I never know how to feel about traditional medicine. On the one hand, it makes sense that if you knew a lot about the properties of different plants and herbs, you would be able to identify which ones would help to cure various ailments. On the other hand, I was once given a prescription by an African witch doctor to cure an ‘evil spirit’ in me by giving away a red chicken and some salt. Even the most tenuous scientific principles would struggle to explain that one.
Imagine this: you’ve been sentenced to spend forty years sitting in an airless room, facing the same direction and clicking certain small buttons over and over again in a set order. You have nothing but a hard, bare table and an uncomfortable chair. If you don’t click enough buttons you’ll be disciplined.