The Business Dinner at the Waterhole of Reality
When the sun set, the crocodiles and the wildebeest met in restaurant intimacy to celebrate their continued survival.
The crocodiles, quietly confident in the mechanisms of the food chain, flashed camouflage smiles. After all, it would be bad form to upset the fine balance of this precarious arrangement by making obvious a cold intent. In short, it would be rude to make their guests feel awkward. They watched their hoofed colleagues, across the white linen table cloth that ran like a river between them, knowing each colleague was expendable.
The young wildebeest were relaxed with the notion of survival through cooperation. The older wildebeest kept their own counsel. They knew safety in numbers only worked as long as they made no sudden movement, or drew, attention to themselves for the wrong reasons. They knew from experience, it was not necessary to out-swim the crocodiles; to out-swim only one, maybe two, of their fellow wildebeest would be enough.
They talked about cars and the weather, while eating over-seasoned pasta and drinking soda and lime - because the crocodiles were driving and the wildebeest thought it best to imitate the crocodiles - as if the crocodiles would ever let them contribute to Nature's plan: wildebeest have no say in what nature has in store for them.
And the directors looked back across the table at their invited, ‘honoured’, guests, and knew they would use them only while they had a use and when that use was gone…well, the food chain was a food chain after all.