In one of the letters written to the Infeld group in Warsaw Einstein wrote:
"A new manner of thinking is essential if humankind is to survive."

EXECUTIVE BATH POLISHERS.

I'm a traveling man. The hazard of my peregrinations brought me some time ago to London, where I lived in Edgeware Road and took the subway at Marble Arch to go to work. On week ends I used to walk to the Serpentine, alongside the Corner, where weird chaps of different descriptions stand on soap boxes and, following in steps of Demostenes, refine their rhetoric by haranguing with mouths full of mashed potatoes. As I'm not particularly fond of mashed potatoes, you won't often see me hanging around there.

However, on that day my ear was caught by unusually clear delivery of something sounding rather joyous and suggesting exultant happiness, in sharp contrast with the gray, gloomy atmosphere within and without myself. I could do with a change, so I stopped and gave the orator a quick once over. Young slender fellow in not too dirty overalls dancing on his box and apparently having fun as if he were a whole bunch of Marx Brothers. Behind him a poster attached to a pole proclaimed in huge characters: EXECUTIVE BATH POLISHERS. Rather cryptic, if you see what I mean, so I approached the Polisher to inquire about the key.

-Hello, gov'nor, -he exclaimed- you look pretty pissed off. Come closer and we will arrange it in no time.-

-Fine,- I said- but I'm all muddled. Who is supposed to be "Executive"? Are you "Executive Polishers"? Or the baths are "Executive"? Or, maybe you polish only baths belonging to "Executives". I must get it straight, before I can think about arranging anything.-

-OK, gov'nor. You're still more pissed off than you look, but I'll tell you all and you'll get the gist sooner than you can say oh.-

-Suppose, you wake up in the morning feeling like something the cat brought in. No wonder: you dreamt about the lousy yesterday and you look to a still lousier today. You don't feel like getting up. The weather is gloomy, you will take the shitty underground and travel amid long-faced blighters, where to? To your lousy work, to meet your bloody arrogant boss, your treacherous hypocrites of colleagues, your ugly secretary and to spend the whole day doing things you hate more than anything. Still, you get up, because you must, you go to your bathroom and that puts the lid on everything: your drab, dreary bathtub looks like descent to hell.-

-And that's where we come in.- he cheered up. -You give us the sign, we go to your flat, do our little bit and here you are waking up on the morrow. First, all's lousy, as usual. Till you go to the bathroom. And then... you hold your breath! Your bright, polished tub shines like a dazzling sun and its glow dissipates all gloomy shadows. You enter the bath like a gate to heaven. You play with the ducks we left on the shelf and start to sing like a lark splashing water around you. You find the blue bird and it will follow you everywhere singing that every cloud has a silver lining.

Why I gave him the order is more than I can say. Why should I have bath or anything, executive or otherwise, polished at my expense in a flat rented for a couple of months? Sheer nonsense, you will say and you will be right. Still, why cry over spilled milk? After all it was quite cheap and I had some money to burn.

Next monday I asked the doorkeeper to let them in and by the time I was back from work the job has been done. The tub was concealed under some sort of cover with a piece of paper saying that it should be left like that until the morning. OK, I left it, took a quick shower and went to bed.

I woke up feeling very much like the morning after. Weather was depressing, in perfect keeping with my mood. I trudged painfully to the bathroom, pulled the cover and ... I held my breath! The bright, polished tub shined like a dazzling sun and its glow dissipated all gloomy shadows. I entered the bath like a gate to heaven. There was a duck on the shelf, blue like the blue bird. How long ago did I last play with ducks in my bath? I can't say, but I still remembered the procedure: you push the bird down to the bottom and let it go. It rushes up like mad and jumps in the air to a considerable hight splashing water all around and looking happy like dammit. Now, if you ever played with ducks in baths, you know that it's simply impossible without singing. So I heard myself singing, surprised like hell. Not so much by singing, because I'm a rather musical sort of cove, as by the repertoire. My usual ranges from "Chain Gang" to "Hangman's Rope", but I pushed , believe it or not, "I Feel Like A Millionaire" and in top allegro too.

The spell kept on. I should have found the wind and the drizzle ghastly and grim, but no matter how much I tried they kept on being bracing, making my cheeks burn and my lips smile. I bought a boutonniere and a bouquet of violets from a flower girl. In the subway I ceded my place to an old lady, whom a purist could label as a tramp, but who seemed to me rather charming. Everybody around seemed nice and friendly.

The boss gave me a tough job in a dry manner. Yet, on second thought I found the idea a shrewd and exciting challenge and pondered on the heavy burden he carries making the company as prosperous as it is and all of us as well of as we are.

I gave my secretary the violets and she looked at me with surprise. I never noticed that her eyes were so nicely brown, warm and tender. They were no ugly eyes. They made her face less ugly, no, indeed, not ugly at all, something like pretty; indeed quite pretty and attractive.

-Harry called you- she said, -and asked to call him back-. Harry, the worst hypocrite of them all. What the hell did he want? She passed me the telephone.
-Hello, old boy- said Harry, -I heard they dumped on you this shit. I'm not overcharged at the moment, so, if you want, I could give you a hand-.

I'm a traveling man. The hazard of my peregrinations brought me to other countries, to other flats, to other bathrooms. The tubs were drab. I tried to have one or two polished by best craftsmen, but all they achieved was elegant shining effect like that of well cleaned shoes. Nothing to dissipate my gloomy mood. Still, I can sometimes see the silver lining. Maybe thanks to the duck. I took it from that bathroom and made it to a steady companion. Even if it's not the blue bird, it imitates it better than you could imagine.