Mid-August seemed like a dumb time to be doing annual budgets to me.  Considering we didn't have the slightest idea where we were going to finish 4th quarter, how were we expected to project the following year?

I suppose it didn't matter because corporate was dictating our growth rate and they were projecting that we would achieve our current year goals.  Never mind that we weren't even on pace to achieve 3rd quarter.

We gathered all of the available data - revenue by client; revenue by month, revenue by week; revenue by daypart; ratings; account manager's evaluations; economic predictions; weather reports; sunspot activity; butterfly migration patterns.  Then we sat down in a room with a projector, a white board, two easels with giant post-its; legal pads, calculators, #2 pencils and massive quantities of Diet Coke.

Of course, one day wasn't enough so we made plans to do it again the next day.  Unbeknownst to me, at that exact moment,  my family was about to learn that although it may not be easy, it is possible to stop a Trane.  As it turns out, the way to do that is to subject it to unrelenting Atlanta heat and humidity.  By the time I got home the inside temperature was 84 degrees and climbing.  The kids were hot and the wife was cranky - the exact opposite of normal.

The air conditioning guy couldn't make it out that night so we settled in with windows open and fans cranking.  The kids could not go to sleep.  By the time they stopped coming into the room to explain the obvious - it was hot in their rooms - the digits said 2:10a.  Not good but with a couple of hits on the snooze bar I thought I could squeak out five decent hours before heading back into the office.  That's about when the dog started barking.

You know how Eskimos reportedly have 27 words to describe snow?  Well, our dog has at least that many different kinds of barks.  The bark on this particular night was "intruder alert".  I grabbed the miniature baseball bat that I kept near the head of the bed.  Not a gun because with small kids in the house, I felt that a gun was more dangerous to the family than to any trespasser.  Not a full-sized bat because I theorized that it took too long to swing.  (Yeah, I've got a lot of theories) So, I had the bat that was given to me on Bat Night in 1974 at Shea Stadium in my right hand, a camping flashlight in the other and I headed down the stairs.

The dog had trapped a squirrel on the lower deck and the two of them were having a standoff.  I distracted Charlie momentarily and the squirrel escaped.  Charlie was keyed up and it took me about twenty minutes and a fresh bowl of water to get him settled.  Then another ten to explain to the wife what happened when I got back to bed.  My heart was racing inside the furnace that was my body. 

"I hope that's your souvenir bat poking me," my wife said.  I moved the bat back to its place under the head board. 

Six thirty came earlier than usual and I dragged myself out of bed.  The walls were sweating.  Shower, shave and a quick peck on the lips and I was out the door.  Oddly, I was looking forward to the puzzle that had become the annual projections because at least the conference room would be cool.

But, the heat was on that day in the form of newly revised projections from corporate.  Apparently, they had conferred with the mystical Goddess of Economic Foresight and had revised the projected increase from +6% to +8%. 

"Hey, that's only two percent more!", said Ralphy, the resident moron, cheerfully.

All of us just looked at him until he broke eye contact and dropped his head.  I didn't feel sorry for him. 

Mercifully, they let us out of the conference room for lunch.  I called my wife on the way to the car to learn that the air conditioner guy had called to say that he was a little backed up with it being hot and all and he was hoping that he would be there by eight o'clock.  My recommendation that the wife call two or three other places to see if someone else could help us sooner was met with silence.  A large silence that filled my aching head - threatening to explode it like an M80 in a jack o' lantern.

I pretended that we were cut off and hung up.  My phone was ringing as I got to the car and I might have answered it except that I was staring at a 3-foot long scrape in the left passenger door.  My jaw slackened in the universal expression of disbelief.  My grip weakened and the phone fell agonizingly slowly as the screen flashed, "Call From:  The Wife" and then picked up speed as it committed suicide on the concrete parking lot.

Then, I noticed the post it note that was stuck to my driver's side window.  At least the culprit had the decency to confess and offer to make amends.  I felt a flash of optimism for the human race that dissolved into mind numbing rage when I read the note.  It said:

"Sorry!"

I picked up the pieces of my Blackberry and hurled them across the parking deck.  I kicked the car and pounded my fist on the trunk.  After a while, I calmed down and headed back inside to report the gash in my car to security.  As I approached the desk, I saw a card that read:

"Due to budget cuts, we no longer staff this desk between the hours of noon and four p.m."  I wrote a note to the future desk sergeant about my incident and then headed back to the car, still determined to get a decent lunch.  Lunch was mercifully non-eventful and I began to believe that my day was going to improve until I approached the conference room door and noticed that it was closed.  I opened the door slowly to see the RVP at the head of the room.

"Where have you been?" whispered Jay as I slid into a seat beside him.  "I've been texting and calling you!"

"My phone broke.  What's going on?  Why is Chris here?" I answered quietly.

"He's taken a personal interest in our market and is here to see the final projections for next year that he has insisted will be done before we go home today," replied Jay ernestly.

The room had grown quiet and I looked up to see Chris looking at me.

"Nice of you to join us Mr. Rohrer," Chris said sarcastically. 

His demeanor suggested that a reply was not necessary so I just looked serious and returned his glare with an expression that I hoped communicated my most sincere interest in everything corporate.  Apparently, that worked because he resumed his speech about the critical nature of getting the projections right and by right he meant that we would all figure out a way to achieve the goals established for us by those who know best.

The meeting ended and I called the wife to let her know that I would be late.  She sounded defeated.  I knew the feeling.

We wore the erasers down to nubs but finally figured out how to allocate the revenue by month and week.  I headed home with fingers crossed that the air conditioner would be repaired.

I parked in the street so as not the block the Cool Time truck that was in the driveway.  As I walked towards the house, I saw my wife's silhouette in the garage door. 

"Hi, hon, what are you doing?" I wondered. 

"I'm watching Julia," she replied.  I followed her gaze across the driveway to the grass where my three-year old daughter was spinning slowly with her arms extended and her head tilted back.  She was singing.

I walked towards her and said, "Hi, angel, what are you doing?"

"I'm dancing, Daddy.  I'm dancing with the fireflies."

I stepped a little closer and then I saw them.  Dozens or maybe even hundreds of fireflies flicking their lights all around her as she turned slowly and sang her song.

My wife had walked up behind me and slipped an arm around my waist.

"Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes," I said as I choked back tears.

"Everything is going to be alright," my wife said quietly. 

I nodded and wiped a tear as Julia sang her song.