The buisiness menu

Egg salad sandwich is the most horrific of all lunchtime options, yet I watch him purchase one every day. The stench seeping out of his skin’s every pore for the remaining hours of the day. On the odd special occasion he would bring in a tureen of garlic prawns which in effect created a force field around him. His office an impenetrable fortress of odour. He was either oblivious to the work conditions he was creating or this was a very clever ploy. No one would bother him from lunch onward; afternoons were his without disruption or deadline.
The favourite game in the office was to send in unknowing temps into take dictation. He loved to talk and often forgot the point of his story so a long session of undirected talking often resulted. The temps would emerge much later, horrified and traumatised but were always greeted with a welcoming cheer. They were now part of the club.
It all came unstuck for him when a new personal assistant organised him a mid afternoon meeting with the senior Executive team. His body unable to adjust to the now abundant presence of people and his inflexible nature of diet not changing it led to an unfortunate incident during the CEO’s address. It started as a squeak ad ended as a hearty rumble of buttocks on moulded plastic seat. A radiated stench encompassing all in the vicinity. The scrambled noise of panic. Chairs crashing to the tiles. Frantic people pushing bystanders to the ground, for others to trip over and trample. Wild eyed hoards high on adrenaline and panic search recklessly for an escape. The illuminated beacon of an exit sign. Later that day he ‘retired’, his office still being aired out, his replacement arrived. It was clear to the staff that the meeting had been to tell him that he was being let go, his indiscretion hurrying up the implementation. It was rather cruel they didn’t even give him the rest of the day. Carrying the personal items he had gathered together from his desk he nodded gingerly at the man who was taking over all he had commanded. The man brushed passed him ignoring the metaphorical torch the old man was trying to pass on. He was a 30’s something hotshot fast talker who looked the part and definitely believed he was about to own this building.
HE took and instant shine to me, offering me his tutelage and mentoring. I often received this, I have assumed it’s due to a look of ineptitude and a willingness to be moulded into someone else’s image easily occupying their shadow.