Manaby II

“Wait a moment,” the manager says, turning to the applicant.

Rummaging through a cabinet, the Sitter eventually pulls out a bundle of rods, fabric and wheels. With practiced ease, he unfolds everything, elements and mechanisms locking together to form a kind of carrier. Tubes and eyelets snap into place, while layers of silk form a cabin. Almost like some kind of gondola.

“Business model,” the manager says, patting the applicant on the shoulder. “Heated seat, automatic climate control, cup holder, armrests, side airbags and a tablet mount. Everything the sophisticated businessman could possibly need.”

The clinking and rustling come to an end, and the Sitter stows the chart in what appears to be the trunk of some kind of rickshaw. Wide enough for two of these elegant vehicles to pass each other in the building’s narrow corridors, and long enough for a fully grown man to sit comfortably inside.

Exhausted and panting, the Sitter takes hold of the guide bar at the front while the manager climbs into the rickshaw, bare hairy legs on display. Before settling in, however, he turns to the applicant. “You walk, my dear fellow!”

Shrugging, the applicant trots alongside the vehicle with his briefcase in hand.

The corridor walls are bursting with opulence, modern art and fashionable statues by various trendy designers.

Every now and then, employees stand chatting outside an office. A woman in a sleek blazer, beneath it the same short briefs as the manager in a matching color, then neatly shaved legs ending in pink pumps. A man in a checked shirt, briefs and snakeskin boots scratches at his tightly curled legs, which would look more at home on a moose.

“Um,” the applicant clears his throat and bites his lip. “Why are so many people not wearing trousers?”

“That,” the manager says mockingly, snapping the waistband of his briefs, “completes the Sitter concept! It is THE key to virtually limitless productivity!”

They turn a corner and stop in front of a double door with the word “Meeting” written above it in golden letters.

The Sitter huffs and puffs; the physical work is clearly no longer coming easily to him. Coughing, he offers the manager his hand and helps him out of the rickshaw.