Mitigatrix Pending Aphorisms

I have a very impressive title on my business card. I have the ability to approve expenses up to fourteen dollars. The mitigation must wait.

I am sitting in the throne of problem-solving, but somebody took the batteries out of the scepter. I look commanding while doing nothing.

They call me the Director of Crisis Resolution. My only tool is a form that forwards your complaint to an unmonitored inbox.

I stand ready to unleash the healing waters, just as soon as the committee reviews the environmental impact statement regarding the plumbing.

We gave her a grand title because we could not give her the power to heal us. She wears the paper crown with absolute, heartbreaking dignity.

She sits in the throne of problem-solving, her hands resting softly on the armrests, dreaming of the day the committee finally grants her a scepter.

The inbox is a void where desperate pleas are sent to die, but the Mitigatrix polishes the routing form so beautifully we forget it goes nowhere.

Store the mitigation requests carefully. One day the environmental impact statement will clear, and the healing waters will wash the dust away.

To be named the savior of a system that refuses to be saved requires a profound, quiet grace. We bow to her unyielding, powerless stance.