had to change, the sooner the better. After all, like Mr Monroe said, he was the company. It felt weird being driven, unless it was by Kathryn. He decided to get in and, after a brief mental dialogue with himself on whether he would take the front seat or the back seat, he decided on the back seat to avoid another incident and most importantly, to avoid having to talk to the stranger.
As they were waiting for the front gate to open, the driver, or better yet, the chauffeur (for rich people didn’t have drivers, they had chauffeurs) started talking to William.
‘Nervous? Don’t be, Mr Willia –’
‘William.’
‘Sorry Mr William.’
‘Just William.’
‘Sorry, Mr Justin William,’ apparently, all that Queen was making Ben slightly deaf.
William approached the driver’s seat, took off one of the earphones (playing Innuendo) and again said. ‘Just William.’
‘Oh. We can’t have that. Company policies. You can choose from Mr, Master, Sir, Sire or perhaps Your Excellency, like Joseph from the thirteenth floor.’
‘Excellency?’ William was baffled.
‘Great choice, Your Excellency William Landis.’
‘No, no,’ he sighed ‘Mr William it is.’
‘Great, Mr William. And like I was saying, if you do get nervous, just start thinking about something you like, a hobby or a girl.’
‘Killing zombies?’
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’
‘So, I guess there isn’t a girl, hun?’
‘There are lots of girls. That’s the problem… I feel stupid in this!’ William said, to avoid progression on the other topic and also because he really did feel stupid in that suit. He undid his tie and took his t-shirt out of his backpack. Ben. Seeing this through his rear mirror, (like all good chauffeurs, they have their rear mirror adjusted, not to the road, but to the backseat, just to check if their employee is all right, of course) put a foot on the brake, sending poor William head first into the back of the seat in front of him.
‘Ouch.’
‘What happened? Did we hit something?’
‘Gosh, no. I never hit, it’s the other stuff that is usually attracted to my car,’ he sounded offended.
‘Reassuring...’
‘Thank you, Mr William,’ Ben replied failing to understand William’s sarcasm.
‘So? Why did you brake?’
‘Ah, we can’t have that, too.’
‘What?’
‘The t-shirt, Mr William. Company–’
‘Policies.’ William was starting to loathe his job and he hadn’t even arrived at his workplace yet.
‘Don’t be like that Mr William. It’s just we can’t have you in a t-shirt. It would appear as if you weren’t working.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes! Appearance is everything. Just ask Al.’
‘Who?’
‘We’re here!’ Ben stopped the car and then proceeded to open the door for his new boss. ‘There you go,’ he said while adjusting William’s tie.
‘Good luck Your Excellency.’ And Ben left with William’s car, which added even more to his paranoia that Ben was stealing his car in the first place. He thought of ringing the police but was interrupted by a tall, skinny woman in an executive suit carrying an agenda and a headset.
‘Hello William. We’ve been waiting for you…’ she smiled, ‘… for a very long time.’
‘I’m late?’ William said timidly, he hated being late, but he thought he was on time.
‘No, no,’ she quickly answered him. ‘A director is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.’
‘I thought that was wizards.’
‘Sorry?’ she was now a bit nervous.
‘Never mind.’
They both entered a nearby elevator with doors labeled in a bright yellow, ‘RESERVED FOR DIRECTORS’.
‘We’re going to make a small stop on floor zero, before going into the board’ meeting. For your bathroom keys, of course, it won’t take long.’
William didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. For one, he assumed the bathroom would be clean since probably not everyone had the key to that bathroom. On the other hand, if he forgot or lost the key (which I’m afraid William is quite good at, that’s why Kathryn had copies of all his keys) he would be without access to the bathroom. ‘I’ll just give a copy to Kat,’ he thought.
Keys in hand they moved along. The young lady went on explaining what was what, and who was who, and young William went on not hearing what was what and who wasn’t who. Finally they entered a long corridor that would lead to another yellow labeled elevator, but William stopped next to an open door with a small golden plaque with the initials ‘M.E’ on it. He looked inside and saw a pile of boxes, a secretary with a computer and a bald man with a white shirt carrying boxes from one side of the room to the other.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes,’ said William, and for that brief moment he took his eyes out of the room to answer her, he could swear that the bald man disappeared and appeared sitting in front of the computer; but when he looked again, there he was, carrying another box, a bigger one this time. He looked and looked away, just like a madman does when he thinks the man in the mirror is trying to trick him, yet the madman insists he can outsmart the man in the reflection. Every time William did so, he saw from the corner of his eye, the bald man vanishing, appearing by his secretary, vanishing again and carrying a box, each time, a bigger one than before. He finally gave it a rest and moved along, his eyes leaving behind the image of a room, full of boxes, with a computer with a minimized ‘solitaire’ window and a slowly spinning chair. They entered the elevator. ‘Who was that?’
‘Mr Al.’
The rest of the way to the meeting room was without any more interruptions and in silence. When they arrived she opened both doors in a pompous way and introduced William.
‘Mr. William Landis, your next president.’ She turned to him and bowed, her glasses almost slipping off. ‘Have a nice day, Your Excellency,’ she said and left.
‘Ah, young boy Will. Here, here. Have a seat,’ said the only man standing in the room. He was really well dressed and had the habit of touching his huge golden cufflinks while talking. He was probably making a presentation that William interrupted.
William sat down on a very comfortable, black leather chair, a new one by the looks of it since it still had the price tag on it. He thought he had to get one of those for his home. All around him were fat, short men. Mr David Fletcher, who greeted him, was the only slim man besides William. He felt a strange sensation being surrounded by those men. He took a better look and, despite the fact that they were probably rich, they were wearing exactly the same suits, and even stranger were their empty gazes.
‘I was just making a presentation to my… our colleagues… on our… the company’s monthly profit.’
‘Oh, ok.’
‘But it can wait,’ Mr Fletcher smiled. ‘Let’s talk about more urgent matters. Pleasing our golden share!’
‘Who?’
‘You.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes! We have lots to talk about and things to decide. Your new car, your new office and your new secretary.’ He winked at William, and started babbling about different cars, colours and horse power, office decorators (all female) and he was doing so with his hands in the air and his back turned to them, looking out the huge glass window.
‘And the key,’ he turned to face William.
‘The key?’
‘Indeed, the executive’s bathroom key’
‘Ah…’ young William was going to say he already had his key, but stopped when he realized he didn’t find it in his pockets. ‘Yes, I’ll be needing a bathroom key, yes,’ and to much of the board’s surprise he continued, ‘but I’m more interested in our monthly profits.’ David Fletcher caught off guard and started searching for the correct chart among the pile behind him.
>
‘It’s down gentlemen, 23%...’ David said.
There was a general mumble of surprise and displeasure.
‘Why?’ William asked David.
‘Well, Sir. We…’ Opening his arms to the rest of the board, ‘have no idea.’
‘Then, let’s discuss the cars, offices, and secretaries less, and more on why our profits are down and how we can reverse this trend.’
There was a general gasp in the room and all the fat, short men were trying to look as shocked as they could, but they weren’t very good at it, since most of their wrinkled faces were expressionless. David smirked. ‘And how do you propose we do that?’
‘We should invest more on research. Our products should always be ahead of our competitors, we should provide cutting edge products.’
‘Cutting edge potatoes?’ For the first time, one of the fat men spoke. He had a very thick Irish accent.
‘Err… potatoes? What potatoes?’ asked a puzzled William.
‘We sell potatoes, no?’ the fat man for his group approval, but they all stared at him with their empty gazes. William was shocked and drove his face into his hands in despair.
‘Now, Mr O’Donnell, we’ve branched out, you know that, right?’ it wasn’t really a question. Mr Fletcher was affirming the fact for his colleague.
‘Branched out?’ Screamed young William rising to his feet. ‘My father was never in the potatoes business.’
‘Yes, yes. We all realize that,’ David eyed the fat Irishman. ‘It’s best if we wrap this for up today and all go home and think about new ideas for R&D, ok Mr William?’ He tried to soothe a furious William. And before William could argue any more, David said farewell and left William all alone with the bunch of obese
Working for Heat - Volume II Page 2
