Sometimes I wish I could do something completely different. All day long I imagine I would sit in an office. White would my office be. Plain white would the space be, with white walls and white chairs, a white chaise lounge would stand in the middle of the room. At the reception always a vase full of fresh white lilies would greet the visitor. No music would blast from a radio,no telephone could ring and not a single email I would have to answer. Everywhere white towels would lay around to refresh those, who come from outside. No black flies would sit everywhere. This would be important. No black flies at all. Something nice my company would produce. Nothing smelly and as well nothing with a strong taste would leave the door of the firm. No animals would be involved and as few people as possible would be needed to do what has to be done. Gongs I think maybe gongs would be nice. Gongs for all opportunities. Gongs for weddings, because weddings in India are the thing to have. Couples would come and look around in the large white halls, where gongs, not ordinary ones, but made of old, golden shimmering bronze would be shown. Their names they could engrave and those couples still convinced that marriage represents something particular romantic would engrave their names under a pair of flying doves. Gongs for big households to call the family to the table. An electric gong that would with a calm and sonorous voice announce the time, followed by a deep gong to give the hours more meaning would be sold to the energetic businessman. Alarm gongs shrill and shrieking would soon replace sirens and everywhere little but steadfast gong towers would be built, where people who had undertaken a series of lectures and practical recital courses would sit and announce matters of importance on a deep and warm-sounding gong. Gong choirs would find gongs in all keys and from far away monks and nuns would come to order a gong as big as the moon for a refectorium, in a monastery somewhere well hidden in the mountains and far away from any valley or town. Revenge gongs would be a speciality of the house, a blaring and coughing, unbelievable loud and disturbing gong that would keep on going, producing an eternal echo, being the Pandora’s box among all gongs. Gongs for children we would offer and gongs for cats and dogs, easy to handle with a paw or a tail. Light gongs for babies still in the cradle we would sell and high-frequency gongs against mosquitos as well. I would sit in the office, sometimes looking down through the ceiling to look at the people searching for the perfect gong to take home. Silently I would smile, breath in the scent of the white lilies and sometimes I would lightly and just with a fingertip touch carefully and without any haste the small white gong, in the middle of my otherwise empty desk. No one would buy a gong called Read On, but using Sophie would not turn out too bad. „Sophgong“ I would call the company. „Sophgong, The gong with the little extra“ would just suit the purpose extremely well.