Leaving the elevator today, wearing shoes and a shirt, as well as my trousers, since I am "on the clock," headed for my cubicle, under the surveillance camera, I smelled what seemed to be a dead thing, like a week old possum in the road, or a sack of garbage in summer, when the garbagepersons are on strike. Turns out it was only a bag of broccoli left too long in the communal refrigerator, the one luxury for "we the people" here in the extremely well-run Wealth Bondage: America's Optimized Experience. At every organization where I have been lucky enough to work, the frig has been a failed experiment in managing the commons. We just do not know how. Did I remove the broccoli? No, I did not. It isn't that I was afraid to touch it, I touch worse every day in my inbox in the course of my official duties. I did not touch the mess because it is not mine. Did I write a memo urging others to behave better, and attach the futile plea to the frig with tape or magnets? (This is the best practice, in WB, are far as I know from experience, but it leads to an escalation of memos, and can cause the disintegration over time of Small Unit Cohesion, as they say in the Military arm of WB.) The memo was written by someone younger, doing her best, written in the voice of a good mother to bad children. The brocolli is still there stinking. And the best I can do to advance the Commons is this post, written on time I stole from the Company, for the benefit of humankind. Now back to measurably maximizing The Human Experience.