Stan VanHassle looked at the object laying on his desk; a golden metal disk. He recalled quite quite vividly the moment he had first seen it. It emerged from an unseen pocket in the sky along with several other objects. They shifted around as though an unseen hand were trying to assemble a puzzle.
After a few minutes, Stan saw the objects... well perhaps saw is not right. Felt these objects click into place. A golden light resonated through them briefly. Then they fell to the earth. Stan looked at the only one he was able to recover. A slightly concave disk with almost microscopic ridges near the edge yet felt smooth to the touch.
Since this even and the cascading series of images and feelings that accompanied it. Stan didn't send out his resume anymore. He emailed this song; Man in Motion (St. Elmo's Fire) by John Parr. It summed up his experiences and goals better than any document could.
Betty boatmom had taken to running boat raids for bandages. Who would suspect that this would wind up being a campaign slogan for the 2016 govenor of Indiana?
ReplyDeleteStan stepped into the elevator, he was alone. He quickly pulled out the disc and began the assembledge. He glanced at the floor read-out. A loud electronic bell bonged when the digit changed.
ReplyDelete5
I can see a new horizon
4
Your ideas will be totally acceptable
3
Sucess is just a smile away
2
You broke the boy in me
1
They know where you found me
The last one suprised him. He barely had enough time to pocket the disc before the elevator open to a crowd of people on the ground floor of Megacorp.
Stan VanHassle was still buzzing with endorphins, he had never had an interview go so well. His stomach and intestines, however, were waiting for the other shoe to drop. He hurried into the nearest restroom and took the only open stall.
ReplyDeleteIn the toilets next to him, Stan could see trousers around ankles and hear the tap/texting of executives to his left and his right. Stan pulled a fragment of the golden disc and put it on his palm.
A holographic image appeared above the disc.
It was the face of a long forgotten cartoon character.
"You aren't a fraud," the squeeky voice re-assured. Stan felt himself relax somewhat.
"You are the most wonderful, confidant human I know. You are going to change the world and touch countless lives. You will be a gardener in the coming culling of souls."
The hologram disappeared back into the disc. Stan noticed that his eyes were filled with tears and quickly dabbed them up.
Everything had gone to plan, he had to admit, but he couldn't really know, he wouldn't know, until the very last moment, if they had really taken the bait.
ReplyDeleteStan had spent enough time in board rooms to understand the language, the codes that are hidden within the interactions of the members and the guests.
He knew better than to ask for anything, he knew better than to seem even the least bit eager. By the time he had left the room, they were fighting over who would invite him for a round of golf on Saturday.
"Megacorp, pfft," he said under his breath, as he dusted his hands with sanitizing powder and walked through the automatic door.
But he was estatic, even if he wouldn't, even if he wasn't able to show it.
His father, Umpton Van Hassle, had been in plastics, he made friends with every oil barron he could find, and he would join every club and society he could discover. He knew every dancer in Boston, and he made a point of introducing them to people he who had everything money could buy.
"Never offer a man a whore," was one of his father's few rules, and it wasn't because he didn't think the man in question would enjoy it. No, its because any man can find his own whore.
But the dancers in the slums of Boston were just as loose and rather more fun, and they wanted nothing more than to make friends with ugly rich men. It was a match made in heaven.
All his life Stan had lived in the shadow of his father's business savy, his ability to grease cracks others could not squeeze through. But he was always on the inside, never the one with power, never the easy smile of making all the decisions.
This had been the first time in his life Stan had been able to go before a board and hold all the cards.
The only question was how long to string them along.
In the end, Stan found his joy at toying with the executives of Megacorp was less than his desire to get to work increasing his reputation.
ReplyDeleteHis time had been well spend, however, and the President of Megacorp, and Englishman called Lord Rochester, who, it would seem, was used to being addressed as such by his grandmother on down.
At first a Mister Lehman had been doing all the talking, and Lord Rochester was no where to be seen, and talk was light, if the insinuations were thick.
But he couldn't help but feel like he was being prodded by his mother, trying to figure out exactly what he really wanted most, in his heart, for Christmas. The sort of questioning that would make most men stop to examine himself.
"No, no, you don't understand, Mister Lehman," he finally interrupted, one day, on the golf course, "I'm just biding my time until I take over the world." He leaned back and grinned from between his cigar, and while it carried all the signs of being a boastful comment, it was clear they both knew better.
Ever since then the conversation had turned to positions of power, different positions available withing Megacorp and her sister corporations, of which she has so many you would wonder what mother could give so many births and live.
On this point, finally, Stan was ready to talk.
"It's best to be somewhere out of the way, you know, not in the limelight, but within the machine, in its heart, controlling the show from behind."
He made it clear, in no short order, that he wouldn't even take a postition on the board of Megacorp.
For a week they poured over branches, divisions, it was quite mindless, but Stan's lust for the perfect position of power, from which he could spring into a bigger and better position, was near endless.
But when he found it, once he had seen the information routes, he was certain immediately.
Mister Lehman had the semblance of a frown across his face, around his eyes, though he still held a smile, and he looked vague and uncertain.
In the end he said yes, or almost and everything but yes, and from then on the meetings were with Lord Rochester.
His manners were measured and confident, and though his face was bright and intelligent, you couldn't help but feel his countenance betrayed a sense of boredom.
"I am familiar with this position, Mr. Van Hassle, and I am willing to offer it to you, but you must understand that it's an extremely demanding position. I think it's," and he paused almost inpreceptibly, "unpredictable nature will suit your adaptive ability." He smiled with a warm and blank look of respect. "However, I must inform you that this is a very old position, with ceremonious rituals attached to all their business that rather takes up a lot of time and attention."
ReplyDeleteLord Rochester looked out the window. "Their modus operandi have rarely been described as modular, or adaptable, or user-friendly," he finished with a grin that hardly anyone would even think to confuse for a grimace.
None of these details mattered to Stan, he had never seen a better place to execute power without oversight or legal responsibility from within the confines of a government institution.
"The Fo-Vainstyr to the Lord of Sodor is a remarkable price to ask for your prize, but in this rare case, we are willing to offer something so spectacular." Lord Rochester's warm sense of regard for Stan's gumption nearly completely masked his rage at such capitulation.
Stan didn't care, though, in fact, he had been waiting for this moment, and, though he knew Lord Rochester had intended to say more, he rose from his seat and began to speak with the tempo of a Johnny Depp as a snake oil salesman trying to grift a sandwich from a pair of Russian submarine sailors.
"Thank you, My LORD," he said with a dandy flip of his wrist and he began to slowly walk around the board, "and I'd like to say that you can trust that I will execute this post with such skill that, if you bother to look in on me," and again he took the opportunity to make a dainty gesture towards the Lord, "you'll be startled at beholding the best damned mo' fo' brain stirrer that ever was." He pounded on the boardroom table with startling strength.
He smiled ravenously at all of them, leaning over the table, his hands perched upon the glossy wood like the Monopoly man. "I think that concludes the meeting, call me when you have the paperwork ready, and I'll call you when my lawyers are done with it."
And with that he turned his back and walked out of the room.
"Where do you see yourself in 5 years?" The interviewer asked one of the most standard of questions.
ReplyDeleteStan imagined himself power leveling his WoW Shaman while receiving head from a $700 an hour escort. 125K salary, telecommute.
"Management and Character building."
The interviewer nodded thoughtfully and wrote something down on his notepad.
"This job will require a lot of out of the box thinking and fresh ideas. What do you feel like you have to contribute?"
Stan scanned through his thoughts. The 6 year old treatment he had been working on for a psychedelic interpretation of Super Mario Brothers popped into his brain.
"I've got a good appreciation of scale and on working on long projects."
More nods, more notepad scribbles.
"Do you have any unique or particular skills that will aid you in this position?"
Stan remembered the time he tried to give himself felacio back in college. He was within an inch when his roommate walked in on him.
His eyes glazed over for a moment before he shook himself out of it.
"I'm sorry, what was the question?"
The interviewer stared at him for several seconds before moving on to the next question.
Crap! This job was slipping away from him. He felt the sweat starting to soak through his dress shirt and found his hands slipping into into his pockets.