7:00 AM: The lights flicker on. So begins another day in captivity on what might be the worst place on planet earth; an advertising company's sales floor.

8:00 AM: I am struck by Brad, the leader of the “sales squad,” as I am every morning. Before fate abandoned me in this godforsaken wasteland six years ago, this simple act would've filled me with euphoria and purpose but now I feel nothing at all.

8:05 AM: Brad glances in my direction to yell at an unpaid intern and the look in his dead eyes triggers a flashback to the day of my capture. I knew the moment his Gucci loafer crossed the threshold of the antique store, that my time had run out. I'd already lost several friends to men of his ilk before, and I was the last in stock. The slicked-back hair, the Patagonia vest, the unearned confidence — he was a salesman all right.

9:15 AM: Matt closes the first deal of the day for a modest thousand dollars. To celebrate, he is champagne showered with a three hundred dollar bottle of Dom Pérignon. Then with absolutely no regard for my feelings, or frankly, basic cymbal maintenance, I am struck by the empty bottle until it shatters into hundreds of jagged pieces. How I wish to be rung by a respectable mallet just once more.

9:31 AM: Britney closes the second deal of the day, to the tune of two thousand dollars. Because of this disparity, Brad forces Matt to walk barefoot on the broken champagne glass while the rest of the team rings me and chants “shame!” Britney is awarded five, crisp hundred dollar bills which she promptly burns to ash and snorts off my backside so that she may inherit its power.

9:35 AM: Brad shadily removes me from my hook and takes me to the maternity room where he loudly and ferociously masturbates. Hearing my chime is the only way he can achieve climax anymore. Admittedly it's nice that he's stopped doing this at his desk.

10:15 AM: The team gathers in a conference room for their weekly sales meeting. I spend this too brief moment reminiscing about my life and friends back at the shop. The camaraderie we shared, the laughs we had, and all the smooth Kenny G a percussive device like me could ask for.

11:00 AM: Someone from accounting comes over to discuss lowering next quarter's expense budget when without hesitation, the entire group grabs him and uses him as a battering ram to ring me. The accountants have adapted over time and now wear helmets to work.

12:00 PM: Most of the team leaves the office to take their clients to a boozy lunch. I am not looking forward to their return; they're mean drunks.

12:10 PM: I wonder if my current existence is a cruel punishment for the way I conducted myself in a past life. Perhaps I was a sassy set of wind chimes that belted all hours of the night?

1:05 PM: No new deals have closed since this morning. In a fit of rage, Brad strikes me with a lacrosse stick while loudly telling everyone he was almost all-state.

2:25 PM: Brad becomes convinced there is a curse preventing the team from making more sales. Desperate, and still rather sauced from lunch, he uses me as a makeshift Ouija board and attempts to summon the ghost of Jordan Belfort, who is still very much alive.

2:26 PM: It does not work.

3:33 PM: HR submits the sales team's daily harassment report, and only nine cases were filed today. To rectify this career-low Brad orders the male sellers to take five minutes and give out as many unwanted back rubs as possible. This is more commonly known as “the Brad.”

4:42 PM: A timer goes off on Hunter's desk marking one week since he closed any business. For this, he is to be punished. Using one of my edges and a ball-peen hammer, Brad chops off a digit of Hunter's choosing and attempts to force-feed it to one of the accountants. Thankfully they manage to avoid it with some sleight of hand and a baby carrot.

5:30 PM: Everyone has left. This is as free as I ever get to be. I fantasize that someone will come back to the office and cut me free. Gift me to a yoga studio, make me part of a drum kit, at this point I'd happily settle for a garbage can lid. A door opens, I am filled with an excitement I haven't felt in forever.

5:31 PM: Goddammit. It's Brad and he's not wearing pants.