The Corporatorium: Cactuses & Tears (Episode Six)
Since Capital B's web cast, we'd all
been pretty quiet, anxiously awaiting the sudden arrival of her and her evil
factotum, Brett. To break the tension,
TWO called an off-schedule production meeting. Production Meeting. The name was
misleading as nothing was ever produced or resolved during these weekly trials
of patience.
As soon as we were all seated around
the conference table, TWO said, “I called this meeting, so we could talk about
our apprehension and anxiety.” More than likely she was hoping to learn what we
Mushrooms knew, if anything, of Capital B's plans.
Twenty minutes into the meeting only
Nigel had spoken up; as usual his voice was pitched so low and his enunciation
so muddy it was impossible to hear what he said never mind make any sense of
his mumbled words.
"Why isn't anyone saying
anything?" TWO finally demanded.
"Perhaps they're afraid?"
one of the Cerberus ventured.
"Afraid?" TWO repeated.
"Fear!" the third
pronounced somewhat ominously.
"Why?" TWO bellowed,
"Is everyone afraid of me?"
"I don't know that fear has
anything to do with it," I said mostly to break the awful, echoing
silence. Every head swiveled in my direction
like so many spectators at a public execution.
"It's more like reluctance."
"What?!"
"I think people are reluctant
to—," I almost said "rattle your cage," but caught myself in
time. I am not, after all, suicidal.
"Okay," I said, trying again.
"Imagine you're lost in a desert for days. You're hot and hungry and desperate. You just want your mommy to tell you
everything is okay. And then you see her
and you run into her arms. Only, you're
delusional and it's actually a cactus you're hugging. Hours later, after you've come to, you're
bleeding and picking quills out of your skin and you're wondering what in hell
you were thinking. You hugged a cactus
expecting comfort and safety and instead you got spilled blood and pain. That's what trying to talk to you is like. So
you see why people are reluctant…"
I ran out of steam and looked her in the eyes. To my horror she began to cry.
Almost immediately, the Cerberus were
on their feet, closing rank around her, cooing, rubbing her shoulders. They formed a phalanx around her and ushered
her out of the conference room. One of
the Cerberus hissed at me. Another
emitted a kind of bark, and the third, turning towards me, made an odd biting
motion with her mouth as if her teeth were biting into succulent flesh and
tearing it away from bone.
"Well that was horrible!"
"And shocking."
"Truly," Nigel
murmured. "Who knew she even had
tear ducts."
"I did see your point,
though," Barbara the Second offered.
"TWO never speaks to me and sometimes I'm not sure she even
realizes I work for her. And if she did ever speak to me, I don't know what I'd
say."
In truth TWO was a bad
boss—distracted, disinterested, reluctant to engage with us. Once when a power struggle erupted between Nigel,
and Barbara the Second, the battling duo stormed into TWO's office demanding
she settle their dispute. TWO, who
despised confrontation of any kind, waved them away and, without removing her
gaze from her computer screen, said: "Fight it out amongst yourselves,
Ladies."
Nigel was livid she’d referred to him
in the feminine; and TWO’s disinterest infuriated both and forged a bond
between the two that very nearly made them best friends. It wasn't long,
however, before they were again at each other's throats, their mutual dislike
of each other far outweighing their hatred of TWO. After one particularly acrimonious battle, Nigel
quit. TWO happened to be at an offsite
meeting that day but one of the Cerberus alerted her to the disaster.
TWO arrived at Nigel's house the next
morning before breakfast. When he opened the front door, she asked him to come
back to work. He refused. She invited herself in. Helpless, he led her upstairs. Just outside
the living room at the top of the stairs leading up from the front door, stood
a mannequin holding a clipboard and wearing a Pan Am stewardess’ uniform circa
1960.
TWO had heard about his mannequins of
course, but seeing them was something else altogether. Nonetheless she followed
him into his living room.
“Come back to work,” she said again.
“No,” Nigel said, “Would you like
some coffee?”
“Yes, please. Black, no sugar."
TWO sat in the middle of Nigel’s sofa
and said,"I should warn you: I'm not leaving until you agree to come back
to work."
Nigel turned on his heels and headed
into the kitchen.
Making herself comfortable, TWO a
looked around the impeccably furnished room. It was a study in
Over coffee, TWO picked up a magazine
and began reading it, even though she hated Vogue. When Nigel returned to
collect her cup he asked her if she’d like breakfast. She asked him if he’d
return to work. He said “No;” she said yes, breakfast sounded lovely. After breakfast she again asked Nigel to
return to work. Nigel refused. TWO sat
on.
Before lunch, TWO asked again and was
again refused. After lunch she asked for
the fifth time and was refused for the fifth time.
Before tea she asked and was refused
yet again.
After tea, bored, but determined, TWO
engaged in a stare-down with a mannequin who, dressed in a demure Oleg Cassini
skirted suit with the pillbox hat Jackie Kennedy had made famous—also worn
backwards, TWO couldn’t help noticing—sat opposite her, her legs crossed
demurely, a delicate porcelain cup held against her still lips.
Unable to match the longevity of the
mannequin’s stare, TWO dropped her eyes and asked Nigel, "May I have
another slice of pie? Just the tiniest sliver." Finished with her pie, TWO
sat on, implacable and immovable as a mountain.
Finally, before dinner, Nigel agreed
to return to work.
To everyone's amazement Nigel was in
his cube when we arrived the next morning.
"What happened?" I whispered. "I didn't think you would
come back."
"Please," he said. "I
had no choice. She wouldn't leave until
I said I'd come back. She was there all
day. The girls were getting irritated—" I knew Nigel well enough to know
that by “the girls,” he meant his collection of mannequins.
“And, I was afraid I couldn't afford
to keep feeding her!"
The day had suddenly plunged into
absurdity. I was just about to pack up
and go home, figuring after making TWO cry I'd better make myself scarce for a
few days and work from home, when a familiar "ping" announced an
incoming MOO.
M E M O R A N D U
M O F O P P O R T U N I T Y !
It appears that there is some
confusion about who owns a blue lunchbox in the refrigerator in the employee
lounge. For the past week, someone,
other than the rightful owner, has taken and kept spoons and other
eating utensils from the Iunch box. In
addition, several lunches have been consumed without permission. And just yesterday, two bites of a sandwich
were taken before the sandwich was returned to its place in the lunchbox. If
you thought you had permission to take these utensils and eat these lunches,
you were mistaken and should immediately return the stolen utensils, if not the
lunches, and cease this behavior at once. Also, a note of apology would also be
appreciated by the victim.
As a reminder: if you are found with
these stolen items, or caught going into someone else's lunch, without
permission, you may be subject to disciplinary action, up to and including
termination.
Copyright ©
2016 Larry Benjamin
D I S C L A
I M E R
The
characters and events described in this blog post exist only in its pages and
the author's imagination.
Feel free to
comment on this story, or share your own experiences in Corporate America
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