Hello there! Yes, you there, the touristy family on the sidewalk. I’m over here, the businessman enjoying a stress-free, worry-free carriage ride through the downtown core. When it comes to getting away from it all, I’m chomping at the bit for a horse-drawn carriage ride.

Climb aboard! Please, I insist. There’s room for the whole family. Well, maybe not all of the children. Or Mee-Maw. Have them sit tight—we’ll be back before they can say “unintentional corporate misconduct.”

Too late. These horses are hot to trot.

Isn’t this serene? Yes, siree. This is a one-way ticket to relax-y town. Nothing to worry about here. Nope, absolutely nothing at all.

Sitting atop a stiff carriage with little to no suspension—so you can really feel the street underneath you—moving at the confused, leisurely pace of equines with no understanding of traffic lights. That’s the way to decompress.

No one from the board of directors or human resources can accuse me of gross negligence while I’m taking a peaceful carriage ride.

Yep, you can really unwind and de-stress on these rides. Absolutely no stress here. None whatsoever.

Take a deep breath. You smell that?

No, it’s not the draft from being in the wake of two horses’ strapped-on diapers. It’s the scent of a bygone era. A simpler time. A slower time. A horse-ier, carriage-ier time.

Frankly, a time with far fewer HR departments.

A time when someone would have been hailed as a pioneer for trying a new workplace initiative instead of being cast out and labelled as some sort of modern day Dr. Moreau.

Looking past my five-day stubble, the Manwich stains on my shirt, and the haunted look behind my eyes, I bet I seem quite relaxed. Why, you’d think I just came from a day at the spa, rather than from what my former employer is calling “a situation currently under review.”

But enough about work. The moment you step into the carriage and the horses start moving, all of your troubles get left behind.

See? It even says so on this little sign I made: “Officially a Stress-Free, Worry-Free Zone.”

Allow the horse and carriage to transport you back to a statelier era. A time before the hustle and bustle of modern technology. A time before phrases like “internal investigation,” “disciplinary hearing,” and “the raccoons deleted everything on the company’s servers.”

When you’re riding in a horse-drawn carriage, you’re not caught up in the busy, non-stop, go-go-go of today’s “email chains,” “conference calls,” and “precautionary rabies shots for anyone in the office during ‘the incident.’”

Let the metronomic click-clack of hooves on pavement lull you into a state of complete relaxation. Don’t fight the movement of the carriage. Embrace the constant jostling.

You are but a human slab of Jell-O. Each jiggle eases the tension.

God, the tension.

Look at how sharply dressed the coachman is: box coat, top hat, knee breeches, and gleaming brass buttons. Now that’s style.

You won’t find an Uber or taxi driver dressed like that. And if you do, I strongly advise not getting into that car.

The carriage has a real “Hakuna Ma-ta-ta” vibe, doesn’t it? Feel the vibe. Block out any nagging concerns.

Remember: this is a stress-free, worry-free zone.

Riding in a horse-drawn carriage is like traveling back in time. And who wouldn’t want to step into a time machine? I know my therapist, Dr. Kessler, thinks I should have done some things differently.

For example, she doesn’t think I should have used “trash pandas”—her words, not mine—to meet my recruitment quota, even if they do have opposable thumbs.

Sure, we could spend the rest of this ride talking about who has and who hasn’t recently been involved in an office enterprise gone awry or we could simply appreciate the calming majesty of horse-powered transportation.

Okay, quick show of hands: who’s been embroiled in a workplace investigation involving unauthorized use of office space, a kiddie pool full of Manwich, and several partially-trained raccoons?

Really? Just me.

Interesting.

Let me ask you this: do raccoons not count as employees if they sit through the intern training video—well, maybe not sit per se, but gorge themselves on Manwich while the video plays in the same room—and receive their own laminated ID badges?

I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.

No need to ruin a perfectly relaxing horse-drawn carriage ride. After all, this is a stress-free, worry-free zone.

I’m so tranquil you’d almost think I’d been given a mild dose of sedative—not unlike the raccoons I brought to work. Which, as it turns out, wears off rather quickly. And leaves the subjects very agitated.

Anyway.

Look at the horses. Calm, dignified creatures. They simply move forward, one deliberate step at a time, unconcerned with the anxieties of the modern world.

No performance reviews. No internal investigations. No mandated meetings with HR and municipal wildlife authorities.

Forging ahead at a slow, steady clomp. Honestly, we could all learn something from them.

Say, does anyone happen to have a few cans of Manwich?

Driver, perhaps we could pick up the pace a bit. Nothing too strenuous for the horses.

Just fast enough to stay ahead of those raccoons wearing laminated ID badges.

Now, repeat after me: “This is a stress-free, worry-free zone.”