He had successfully climbed the corporate ladder. Although they were now financially secure, each subsequent promotion and raise wasn’t nearly as gratifying as he’d expected. He certainly didn’t feel anywhere near rich. He had come to realize that past a certain point, chasing more of the same was futile. Having more things may have added some extra measure of fun in their lives, yet, deep down, he wasn’t really any more content today than when he and Jane had started out as broke newlyweds so many years ago. In truth, those were good years, exciting years.

Interrupting his reverie, Fred, a junior colleague in the Department of Government and Regulatory Affairs, suddenly appeared in front of his desk, clutching an oversized mug bearing the corporate logo and a picture of his face. These had been distributed at the company picnic as a morale booster, along with surplus promotional merchandise normally given away to customers at the holidays — pens, notepads, calendars, mouse pads, and other such swag. The custom picture mugs were a big hit at the last picnic. Everyone had eagerly lined up in front of a wall for their shots.

Benson remembered these picnics mainly for the disturbingly casual garb in which some of his male colleagues appeared, dressed in tank tops, basketball shorts, and beach sandals, their hairy shoulders and knobby knees on display. The women could be just as bad, sporting revealing tops and short skirts or tight shorts, bulging in all the wrong places. They’d bend over for the barrel race or potato sack jump or something and he’d have to look away out of a decent respect for decorum, especially if Jane was there with him.

“Tom? Earth to Tom.”

Fred laughed at his little joke.

“Hey Tom, you’re gonna be late for the meeting, dude. We’re gonna talk Rule 140-D, Accounting for Transfers of Financial Assets and Repurchase Financing Transactions.”

“Sounds like fun, Fred. I’ll be there in five minutes — and don’t call me ‘dude,’ dog.”

Just beyond his window, the birds swooped and soared gracefully in the warm breeze, barely flapping their wings, riding the wind. No cage and no rules. No meetings. Some men try to stoke their flagging enthusiasm by gambling, drinking, or womanizing. One-dimensional and self-destructive; not for him. He wasn’t achieving anything here anymore; he needed new challenges. He was beginning to feel as if he were shackled to his desk, caged in his little office. The moment he left the building every night was the best part of his day. He would rejoin Jane and Daniel, his son.

It was shortly after the last company picnic that Benson had decided that it was time to get more involved in the bigger issues. He would devote his energies to something more than just a job. Unlike all the other presidential elections he could remember, each of them proclaiming to be the most critical contest in a generation, or that, if the other candidate won, the country would be overrun by rampaging hordes looting grocery stores and stealing cars and other such nonsense, this one truly seemed important. The country was facing serious threats from inside and out. He would not sit and watch while his beloved country went into decline.

He became captivated with the idea of changing the world and personally making a difference, jumping at an unexpected offer to be a campaign “bundler,” hosting fundraisers and coaxing friends, relatives, and business contacts to donate to the cause. The very idea charged him up, invigorating him with new passion and purpose. The people with whom he would work would be intellectual, freewheeling, high-energy types. He knew that it would take up most of his weeknights and weekends while he struggled to devote enough hours to his job at the bank, and he wouldn’t have much time for family. Still, it would be temporary and he was getting into it rather late anyway, as political campaigns go. He would make this small sacrifice for his country.