A Little Death of the Big Company.
Part 1: The Recruits
To think that the entire fate of the G.H Remfred’s (pty ltd) fledgling e-commerce business was about to rely on a fresh faced up-starter to deliver the entire marketing plan to their first prospective international client would prove to be quite a truthful thought. Mark, or was it Marv?, had, through some balls up in H.R, not been employed in the entry level admin position he applied for, but instead found himself seated in the board room for higher up decision makers with a top priority business portfolio laid out in front of him, and only a week before the companies most important merger. Why he didn’t raise the issue of his gross under qualification, or the mistake that H.R had made, no one knows. Regardless, the morning of the meeting he took his seat in the boardroom, portfolio in hand, and listened to the confident and vigorous welcome speech that owner and CEO Mr. Gary Remfred gave to the visiting Chinese nationals and then, when invited, rose to take the podium and deliver a business proposal he knew nothing about.
To facilitate his falsified job position, Mark (I’m pretty sure it was Mark, I mean, who’s called Marv these days?) had purchased some imported Pierro de Silva shoes that shone with a sleek black polish and tapped a rhythm from an exaggerated heel that gave him an extra two inches of height for a cost of around $800.
“Hmm, these boots are made for walkin’” Mark said to his reflection in the mirror earlier that morning, “Just like the Dolly Parton song” he mistakenly qualified to himself, and then paused before looking himself directly in the eye and adding, “fo sho.”
Looking down from the podium now he met the eyes of each individual seated at the oval shaped table in front of him, shuffled some papers, looked out of the windows to the stretch of sky outside, and then vomited a mixture of that morning’s breakfast (Weetbix), and the previous night’s Kahlua, Midori, a beer and traces of his secretary-turned-lover’s vaginal fluid all over his Pierro de Silva’s.
“And that, kids, is why we now operate out of this single level barn in a Dandenong industrial complex, as opposed to the Collins Street office that we began in”, concluded Dominic Barihn, who had been charged with the task of giving the companies first new recruits since the company imploded their induction. “It’s also the reason why we’re not supposed to fraternise with colleagues”, said now head of marketing, Chris Bentley as he stepped in front of Dominic so that the uncertain looking newbies could see him. “But then again I didn’t get to where I am today by not bending rules” he added with a smile/predatory glance that began on one uncomfortable looking girls face, dropped to the hem line of her skirt and then rose back up again.
“H..how did you know that he said that Nancy Sinatra line to himself in the mirror?” said a pencil figured recruit, breaking Chris’ concentration on the girl.
“It’s that kind of attention to peripheral bullshit that’s gonna bury this company once and for all”, Chris snapped. “What we need now is some good, hard dick men”
“Hhhh, pardon?” The recruit’s voice cracked a little as a he stammered for a response.
“I said good, hard dick men”, this time a little louder, “to take this company right up the middle.”
“Excuse me?” Came an exotically lilted voice from within the crowd of recruits. “Is that all this company really is, a dick measuring contest? Because I didn’t just do a commerce degree to end up here.” The name tag that clung tentatively to a large breast read JASMINDA, but you couldn’t see it under her tightly folded arms that pushed the top curves of a brown-skinned cleavage up through her blouse to within inches of her chin. Chris looked. Jasminda looked at him looking. A few electrically charged milliseconds hummed with a painfully awkward vibration, but Chris, recovering, smiled.
“Hey, that’s the number one thing we’re looking for here, anyone who wants to grab a hold of success and really drive it home. That’s what you need to take away from this induction.” He loosened then re-tightened his tie, then added, “Big time” in a voice that seemed to be retreating.
Dominic, sensing some kind of court action brewing from this back and forth, stepped forward to try and move the group along but the sound of a crashing door behind him and a buzzer sounding to let the receptionist who was 6 ft away know the door had been opened, cut him off. Wild eyed and with his shirt only half tucked in, a distressed Mr. Remfred burst into the office with a speedy stagger that made all the new recruits jump with fright.
“I need the Steer Line account, Dominic” he gasped, clicking his fingers in Chris’ direction. “You! Are you the one handling this thing?” he blared in the face of the pencillish new recruit while clamping his hands firmly around the kids arms at the elbow joints, turning the recruit into a helpless, horrified looking statue. “Well? Bloody hell! Who runs the accounts around here?!” And just as quickly as his unintelligible fury had entered, it was gone and he left the room. Similarly, the recruit’s consciousness had left his body and he sprawled faint on the ground now, as some of the other less shocked recruits gathered round to try and raise him. “Well, that’s five o’clock, lets wrap it up for the day”, said Dominic, stepping past the limp body of the recruit and the people trying to give him aid. “And remember, we’re after the go getters, not the pant wetters,” pointing to the unconscious recruit’s damp crotch. “And if you put in enough time, the boss may even learn your name. Whether or not he pins it to the right face is a whole other accomplishment.”