There’s something poetically tragic about driving past a window-glass company and seeing several of their own windows broken, like a hairdresser with a bad haircut or a gym instructor out of breath after climbing one flight of stairs. It’s as if the building itself is crying out, Please, for the love of all things transparent, fix me! You’d expect their headquarters to be a gleaming shrine of pristine glass panels reflecting the light of their success. Instead, it looks like a cautionary tale in architectural irony, where their motto might as well be, “Do as we say, not as we display.”
What’s worse is imagining how it happened. Did they just run out of stock one day and think, Eh, we’ll fix it next quarter? Or is it an ongoing battle between them and neighborhood kids with slingshots who see this as the ultimate test of target practice? Either way, you know that every employee entering the building has to pass those shattered windows and resist the urge to hand their boss a broom. “We’re a glass company,” they probably grumble under their breath. “We shouldn’t be this fragile—emotionally or structurally.”
