Allegory

He approached the door. Its frosted glass read simply "Perfection." He had been instructed to clean the room, to empty it completely so that new equipment might be moved in. A simple enough task, he thought. He was motivated to finish the task quickly, as he had been told the boss would invite the best workers to his private getaway in the hills. He could just let the boss take care of it--he'd offered to do so on several occasions--but he didn't want to risk his spot at the retreat by depending on someone he'd never met to clean the room. So he cracked open the door, and as it groaned with the weight of his push he remembered all the times he had passed this room and never bothered to enter. The air inside seemed awakened from a deep sleep, like he was the first intruder for many years. In the dim light he struggled to make out the contents of the room. He flicked the switch, but the old halogen bulbs struggled to produce light. Nevertheless, he started into the room and was soon greeted with the foul stench of manure. In fact, in the dim light he could make out a whole pile of it. So he wrapped his shirt around his mouth and nose to shield himself from the stench and began to shovel it into a wagon and wheel it out. Load after load he removed from the room, until in the still dim light it looked as though the room was empty. He sauntered to the door, satisfied with his work, but before he reached it the light became just the smallest bit more intense. In this newly lit room he could make out in a far corner of the room a small stack of dusty books. Dejected at this new chore, he opened one of the books to a random page and found it full of senseless, hateful drivel. Like some sort of wicked stream of consciousness. He shut the book quickly, and the slam echoed in the large room. His mind raced, as the hateful words brought back memories he had tried hard to leave behind. Soon the books were removed and again he headed for the door. Before he could shut the door, though, the lights in the room became a little brighter, and he could make out around the bulbs a massive array of cobwebs that filled the top of the room. He wondered how he hadn't noticed the cobwebs before, they seemed so prominent now. They didn't come down easily, but in a few hours he was satisfied once again that the room was completely clean. But he paused now, waiting for the light to get brighter, as it had twice before. It did. In the new light he could see dirt piled in each corner. Frustrated, he swept it out and waited. The light grew brighter. He saw. He cleaned. The light grew still brighter. He saw more. He cleaned more. This continued for hours until he found himself sitting in the middle of the room, exhausted and in despair. It was obvious that with the completion of each job, a new and smaller one became evident in the brighter light. He was about to give up and go home, when the boss came in and picked him up. The boss took him out into the hall and closed the door behind them. The worker stared at the door for some time, still tired from his hours of labor. The boss asked "Will you let me finish it?" The worker nodded, as much from resigned exhaustion as anything. Suddenly, the door no longer read "Perfection." Now it read "Finished." He asked why the door read finished, when there was clearly more to be done. With that, they entered the room once more. The room looked different now. Lights fully bright, and all the walls and floors and ceilings a perfect and unblemished white. "All you had to do was ask," The boss said gently. With that, the two of them left the room, turning of the lights, on their way the getaway in the hills.