Melissa was late. Again.
Gonzo looked at the clock, displeased. It was 9:17am. This wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Melissa had been getting on his last nerve for a while, and it was high time he did something about it.
“Marky, would you call Fred in here?” He asked, closing his browser tabs and taking a sip of his coffee.
Expense reports be damned—they could wait until later that afternoon. Melissa’s terrible attitude, however, could go ignored no longer.
Fred wandered in. He was hungover, smoking a cigarette, and smelled faintly of cat piss.
He had been with the company five years, though, and was the best worker they had.
“Melissa’s late,” Gonzo told him, eyeing the cigarette with a raised eyebrow.
Fred took his phone out of his back pocket, and held the screen up for Gonzo to see. Displayed was a text exchange with Melissa, where she said she wasn’t coming in.
Gonzo frowned. “That’s the 5th time this month! You know we can’t allow that.”
Fred shrugged, taking a drag on his cigarette, and looking off into the middle distance. Gonzo didn’t particularly like the complete apathy with which Fred floated through life, but again—he had the best numbers in the company.
“Tell her if she does it again, she’s fired,” said Gonzo, shaking his head in frustration. “We’re trying to run a business! If she’s not here, she can’t manage our customers. If she can’t manage our customers, they can’t sign in. If they can’t sign in, we can’t do our job.” He crossed his arms, looking to see if Fred understood.
Fred didn’t seem to much care, however. Never was much of a people person. A crackshot mechanic, and that was about it. He shrugged again and turned to go.
Gonzo took a moment to consider Fred, the the warehouse they called an office, and the joke they called a mechanic shop.
He had grown up on the streets of Poland, and he knew this was not what his parents had wanted for him when they came to America. There was a reason his father had fought so hard for him to go to Dartmouth—he had wanted more for him. He never meant to die prematurely and force Gonzo to take over his shop. That had never been part of the plan.
It was at that exact moment that Gonzo’s phone buzzed. He looked down.
Another text from Dante.
Typically this would’ve annoyed him, but he was in a particular mood right now, and it seemed more fortuitous than not.
“You know what?” Said Gonzo, in a rare moment of clarity. “No. No, no, no. You guys are all fine. Keep doing exactly what you’re doing. Its my fault for staying here, when I know I’m better than this.”
Fred’s glassy eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Marky peered around from his seat, ever so slightly worried look on his face.
They didn’t know much about their boss, but they knew this: nothing ever changed with him. He was a 31 year old Polish man saddled with a dead end career, who hated his family and hated his life even more. He was a creature of habit for whom nothing ever changed, and they thoroughly expected him to work at this mechanic’s shop until the day he died, employing them all in perpetuity so they could sit back at their jobs and enjoy steady paychecks while doing basically nothing. Gonzo’s sudden epiphany was a little unsettling to both of them.
Gonzo unclipped his badge, and set it on the desk in front of him. Fred and Marky stared at it like it was a venomous snake: Why was it there, and what were they expected to do now?
“I quit,” he said, feeling the first rush of adrenaline he’d felt in years. “It’s been coming for a long time, but it’s finally time.”
Fred and Marky both looked stunned. They felt like their universes were unraveling before their eyes. They would’ve been less surprised if a UFO had landed outside right that instant, and taken them all hostage. No one had any idea what to say.
“You can’t quit!” Piped up Susan, the CPA who’d been sitting in the corner the entire time, but who no one ever listened to, and who most forgot worked there at all—No one ever pays any attention to CPAs until they need them. “You’re the boss!”
Fred and Marky turned and meekly nodded in agreement with Susan. They sincerely hoped she would be able to convince Gonzo to give up his lunacy, and listen to reason.
Instead, Gonzo was getting even more worked up. “Yes, I am the boss!” said Gonzo. “That’s why I have to quit!” Flashbacks from his childhood were coming fast and furious to him now, as his epiphany expanded exponentially. “This was never what I wanted to run. I never wanted to be a mechanic! I hate cars! I don’t even really know that much about them! That was my dad’s passion—not mine!” He began to pace. Which, in the small makeshift mechanic’s office, was quite the logistical feat. “I was raised to be professional. I want to run my business!” Gonzo couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Was this really him? How long had he felt like this? Him, be a part of an actual legitimate business endeavor? That wasn’t something his family had created for him? It was difficult for him to picture.
“What kind of business would that be?” asked Susan.
“That’s not the point!” said Dante, who had no idea. “The point is that whatever it is, I need to be doing it!”
Minerva, who was wearing a lacy green period dress that day so she could play flute at the RenFaire after work, peered around the side of her cubicle. She was in charge of records.
“Does this mean no more free lunch on Friday?” Her voice quivered. She was particularly fond of free lunch.
“Minerva, for the last time,” said Gonzo, practically as an afterthought as he was interrupted mid-monologue “there is no free lunch on Friday. You’re supposed to chip in for the pizza.”
Minerva wrinkled up her nose, and sank back into her cubicle, her subterfuge having gone suddenly and horribly awry.
“Yup, I think this is it for me,” said Gonzo. He stood up. “Time for me to start fresh and rebuild.”
He picked up his phone, then set it down. Then he picked it up again, this time, with even more resolve. “I’m gonna—I’m give my old friend Dante a call and see if he wants to do a business he mentioned. I know he’s been flaky in the past, but I have a good feeling about everything this time. He’s learned a lot over the years, and I think it would be good for me to hear him out.”
Everyone cringed.
They had heard many stories about Gonzo’s escapades with his college friend, Dante. Most of them knew enough to know that Dante was never going to amount to anything. It was ok if Gonzo wanted to try something knew, but no one was sure how to tell him that this is the worst possible way he could try to do that.
“So…” Marky ventured. “So who’s gonna be our boss?” Good ole Marky could always be counted on to ask for the bottom line. He was generally timid, and not a fan of change. Even now, part of him was hoping that Gonzo would burst into laughter and confess that the whole thing had been an elaborate joke.
Gonzo looked around the room, considering each of his employees carefully. Who among them would make for the best boss? He eyed Marky, with his trembling fingers…then Fred, with his glassy eyes…then cast a look over to Susan, and Minerva, respectively….
Foof! A stack of papers flew into the air, blanketing everyone in quarterly numbers. Gonzo took a step back in surprise. Man, that was gonna be irritating to pick up and put back in order. He was glad he didn’t have to do it.
“I’m LITERALLY your assistant, and do most of the work for you,” said Marty, his 20 year old impish arms waving wildly to make his point.
“Oh hey there, Marty,” said Gonzo, who hadn’t done a single thing to recognize his intern for the past 6 months. He frequently forgot he was there at all, which is a testament to the level of professionalism Marty had. “Always get you mixed up with Marky. Sorry about that.”
“Just because we’re twins doesn’t mean we’re the same person!” yelled Marty, who had gotten the internship because his twin brother had recommended him for the interview.
He fled to sob in the back room. Gonzo shook his head. He liked Marty, but in his heart, didn’t feel his frequent emotional outbursts quite made for managerial material. Also, he was only 20, and had only worked there for 6 months.
“Well, I guess that leaves—” his eyes swept over the room again.
“Me,” a quiet voice said.
Gonzo turned. His beautiful, meek, Japanese girlfriend Michiko stood smiling behind him.
She had a thing she did where she turned up places unexpectedly without anyone knowing how she’d gotten there, or how long she’d been there. It was partially impressive and partially eerie, but it suited her personality well.
“I can run this place for you,” she said softly, eyes sparkling.
“Michiko?” Gonzo said, surprised. He had thought Michiko was across the country visiting relatives. When did she get back? Why didn’t she tell him she was coming back early? Was she ok? “Are you sure? How did you even get here? I thought you were—”
“I do a lot of things you don’t know about,” said Michiko, putting a single finger of his lips. “Anyhow, I got it here. Really. I wanna support you. I love you, honey. You go find your next big thing.”
“Are you sure?” It was always hard to tell if Michiko was being genuine or not. She wore designer sunglasses everywhere she went, and it made it really hard to see her eyes.
“Yes I’m sure! Someone has to make a paycheck so we make rent. I’ll take over. You go talk to Dante.”
“Thanks, babe,” Gonzo kissed her. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too!” said Michiko, her smile beginning to fade the moment Gonzo walked around her into the back.
Gonzo grabbed his things and left. An uneasy silence fell as Michiko, quiet as a shadow, took her place at his desk, and began to read through the expense reports he had sworn off till he had the time to deal with Melissa.
“Hey Marky?” Michiko said, quietly.
“Y-yes, Michiko?” Marky responded.
“Please call Melissa, and tell her she’s fired,” said Michiko, in a quiet voice that nonetheless left no room for uncertainty. “You can hire a new secretary tomorrow.”
Everyone looked insecure and uneasy, wondering what would happen with Gonzo’s girlfriend in charge. Did she even know what the company did? Had she ever run a company before? Was she a shadow demon in disguise who would slowly drain their life forces? Should they try to escape now, while there was still time?
Minerva had no time for such questions, however, as she peered over the cubicle again. She sniffed around for a moment, trying to gauge the room and decide if it was safe to speak or not.
She decided that it was, and went ahead and braved the new icy atmosphere created by Michiko.
“Does anyone want to order pizza?” She asked, her grumbling stomach giving her courage. “I’m hungry.”
“Fred, order pizza,” Michiko said, without looking up from her computer screen.
Fred’s yellow eyes flicked up to meet Marky’s in a quiet plea for help.
Marky nodded once, picked up his phone, and dialed, while everyone silently prayed the whole thing was a joke, and Michiko skimmed the business numbers with a deadening stare, and didn’t move again until the pizza came.
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