Corporate Man is called in to investigate reports of vile, unethical business practices at Great American Business Company. What he finds there just might destroy him (except we all know the ending to The Tragic Death of Corporate Man so it should be fairly obvious that it can't really destroy him, though it can come close).

Enslaved by the Bonus Whores is an all new Corporate Man Adventure Serial. Chapters will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

After nearly a decade of imprisonment, Corporate Man returns to find the economy in ruins and his deadliest enemies in control of all but a fraction of society's wealth. He embarks upon a quest to set right the wrongs of the business world; a task that will ultimately destroy him.

Friday, March 29, 2013

Chapter 194

“Prosperity.  That’s the key folks.  Once we prosper, then we’ll find that we’re not disprosperous anymore,” said George W. Bush, tilting his head and cocking his cowboy hat in a reassuring manner.  “Tax cuts will ensure prosperity and deregulation enables businesses to take advantage of this prosperity and grow.  And growth is the only way …”  He jangled his hand as if jostling man-fruit.  Then he redoubled the intensity of the movement to emphasize each of his next statements. “Prosperity.  Tax cuts.  Deregulation.  Change my diaper.  War on poverty.”
The crowd roared.  The applause of deafening.  George W. adjusted his diaper in quick thrusting movements and the crowd roared again.
“Wait,” said Corporate Man.  “Did he make these kind of speeches during his terms in office?”
“Yes,” said Business Woman, jaw clenching.
“And he got elected for a second term?”
Business Woman sighed and said, “Yes.  People are that stupid.”
Bull Market paced frantically, scratching haphazardly.  “This is not good.  Not good at all.”
“We all want the same things, right?” George W. Bush continued.  “We want to live life, have our things, be happy Americans, and kill terrorists.  Am I right?”
Cheers from the crowd.
“Sure I’m right.  No terrorist left behind!”
An earthquake of crowd noise.
“The only way we can do all that is by prospering and the only way we can prospersize is by fixing this economy and then only was we can fix this economy is by having a conversation.  Starting a dialogue with economists and trusting in our business leaders who are already very prosperous because they know how to do it.  And we can all follow their example.  So spend money.  Stimulate the economy.  And trust in the system.  Let the economy correct itself.  Prosper.  And that alone will create prosperity.  And prosperity for the nation means that we can continue our war on children.”
The response to this was disparately flat.  A secret serviceman shuffled onto the stage and positioned himself behind and to the side of George W. Bush.  He reached a tentative finger toward the waistband of the former President’s diaper, pulled it open slightly, and peered down inside.  His brow furrowed and his lips pulled back from his teeth.  The agent nodded and was joined by more secret servicemen.  They carried W. off the stage.
An alarm bell sounded, signally the start of trading.
Bull Market charged forward shouting, “Sell!  Sell!  Sell!”
The arena became a frenzy of aggressive activity and overpowering noise.  Everyone trying desperately to outmaneuver and out hand-signal each other.  Bull Market’s cries were drown out by the crowd and he was swept away into a boiling mass as mob panic consumed the floor.
Tele-screens and digital tickers displayed falling numbers as the market plummeted.  A noise, like a high pitched whine, pierced the air then grew higher and higher.
“Oh damn.  This is bad,” said Business Woman.
“We gotta get out of here,” Senior Executive hissed.
“It’s too late,” said Corporate Man.  “It’s here.”
Commander Credit’s eyes gleamed and smile cut across his face.  He checked the weapon systems on his arm and said, “Yes.  And it’s about damn time.”

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Chapter 193

There were too many levels, too many rooms.  He needed to go up, but it seemed as though these passages always went down two or three levels for every one ascent.
After escaping the boudoir of the irresistibly seductive Pink Slip, Franklin Buck found himself at the offices doors of a business called Pinnacle Inc.  The walls of the place were of quarried sandstone and strange Egyptian-like hieroglyphs marched across all the surfaces.
Before he could enter he was forced to buy a franchise business, but the purpose and operation of the business was never made clear in the paperwork.  The only thing that was made clear was that it was expected of him to “sign up customers” upon whose fees he would earn residual income and, more importantly, to “sign up representatives” upon whose customers he would each additional residuals.
After that he’d entered the crazy sandstone structure.
And now he was lost. 
Every stairwell he discovered was guarded by a sphinx and the sphinx demanded that he sign up five additional customers or one rep before he could gain entry to the ascending stair. 

Monday, March 25, 2013

Chapter 192

The Union walked through the set of double doors into a room the size of an arena.  It was bustling with people in suits, runners in collared shirts, and polo-clad coffee fetchers.  Everyone made complex hand signals at everyone else.  A smell, covetous and sweaty, like a locker room papered with decommissioned dollar bills, permeated the space.  The noise was overpowering, like the engines of a private jet to the basic rights of the needy.
“Ah… This is where it all goes down,” said Bull Market. 
He led them through the sea of people to a small platformed area sectioned off with velvet ropes.  Here were gathered those whose previous day’s trading had garnered acclaim and this slightly elevated place of honor was their reward.
The arena space was so massive that more than one member of the Union wondered how a place with ceiling so high could fit on one floor.  Even if that floor was the equivalent of three floors combined.  Giant tele-screens hung from huge steel rafters and electronic ticker displays scrolled in every direction the eye could possibly look.
“When’s the big show start?” asked Business Woman.
“In a couple of minutes,” said Bull Market.  “Apparently, they’ve got a guest speaker coming in who’ll kick things off today.  Rumor has it that it’s the President.”
“Really?” asked Corporate Man.  “Barack knows about this place?”
“How could he not?” said Bull Market.  “This place is the economy.”
There was an eruption of cheers and applause which replaced the already roaring sound in the arena.  At the far end of the arena was a tall stage with huge speakers flanking either side.  The lights dimmed and a spotlight flashed upon a lone figure as he walked toward center stage.  He wore a large brown Stetson hat, spurred cowboy boots, and a man-sized disposable diaper.
“Oh god,” said Bull Market.  “Not him.  Not him!”
“What?  Who is it?” asked Corporate Man.
“Ah shit,” said Business Woman. “That’s W.”
“As in George W? asked Corporate Man.
“Yep,” Business Woman said, her head shaking instead of nodding.
Bull Market scratched nervously at his neck.  And then his forearm.  And then his scalp.
“This will not end well,” he said.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Twittery Book Giveaway!

All those who re-tweet the following twitter post

will be entered into a drawing to win a copy of the fantastic book The Tragic Death of Corporate Man: a hero for capitalism; champion of the working class (book 1). Due to an error at the printer, we find ourselves in possession of several miss-cut editions of the Corporate Man book.
(See how close-cropped the top is on this one)

Not willing to charge for an inferior version of this precious text, we are giving them away.  For Free!  Five copies of the book are up for grabs in this Twitter giveaway and we will mail them, at no expense to the winners, anywhere within the continental United States, Alaska, Hawaii.  If you promise to really love the book, or just show how much you loved winning the book (via pics, vids, blogs, etc.) I will probably ship it overseas or across borders should one or more of the winners hail from Other-Than-USA.  Customs and costs being the key hindrance in that situation.

The drawing will be held on April 15th 2013 to celebrate taxes.  Those of you who do not win, or simply wish to further support independent writers in their endeavors to earn a little cash off their craft, may buy as many copies of this book, or the concluding volume, at the following locations in the format of your choice.

Print: Book One  -  Book Two
Kindle: Book One  -  Book Two
Nook:  Book One  -  Book Two 

Thank you for your participation in this giveaway.  And for those of you who do not tweet, but for some odd reason find yourself unable/unwilling to open a twitter account or buy a copy of the book or wait and read it for free on the blogsite or simply wish to feel the pseudo gambling rush a book giveaway brings, watch this site for future giveaway offers which may or may not include facebook or goodreads or coupon mailers.

The above photograph was expertly arranged, shot, and modeled by Christopher Blackburn photographic genius.  Please pay homage to his skills or flatter him in the name of Corporate Man at:

Many thanks to Ken for "hosting" this tweet-fest by tweeting the first tweet (it felt immodest for me to do it). Check out his blog at

Chapter 191
Franklin Buck preferred the running.  At least that made sense.  This debtor’s prison made no sense at all.  After that enormous, meandering escalator he’d found himself in a small lobby with a popcorn machine and free coffee.  There was a teller window, behind which was a door.  On this door was a sign indicating a stairwell leading to the lobby.  The only way to get beyond the teller window and continue his efforts to find the lobby floor was to sign up for a free checking account.  As soon as he’d signed his name and had been issued a debit card, a team of burly security guards slapped cuffs on his wrists and hauled him into a dimly lit corridor where they tossed him into a cell. 
An hour later a piece of mail dropped into his holding pen, through a slot in the wall.
It was an account balance statement alerting him to an overdraft of funds.  Apparently, upon the opening of his account it was noted that there were insufficient funds which, and the terms of the free account clearly stipulated (in paragraph twelve of subsection thirty-two of the sixteenth entry under the heading account parameters), that should an account carry a balance under five hundred dollars then a twenty-five dollar fee would be applied.  Furthermore, there was an additional twenty-five dollar convenience charge for the pleasure of speaking with a real live teller.  The debit card was free, but another twenty-five dollar fee had been tacked on for the assignment of a personalized PIN number.
“Hey!” Franklin Buck shouted.  “This is bullshit!  When I signed up you only asked me for a hundred bucks.  And speaking to the teller?  You kidding me?”
He read on.  With twenty-five dollars left in his account, guards were proactively summoned to haul Franklin off to debtor’s prison because the twenty-five dollar fee for summoning said guards would bring his account balance to zero.  Additionally, a seventy-five dollar convenience charge would be tacked on for each live guard as well as a rental fee for the cell in which he was to be detained.  Meals would result in fees as well.  The statement went on to document twenty-five dollar overdraft fees which were to be applied to each charge following the zero balance due to the insufficient funds in the account to which all charges were being attributed to.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Chapter 190

As it turned out, Bull Market’s wish was granted.  Partially.  There was only one available room left when the Union made their accommodations so it was decided that the ladies would get their own suite and the guys would bunk in with the Bull.
Bull Market found this slightly disappointing, and more dissatisfaction came his way when his much anticipated guests began falling asleep during the second replaying of his bright and shining fiscal moment.  Disappointed, he gave up and they all turned in for the night.
He woke them in the morning with a vast, room service catered breakfast during which they watched the replay of his successes of the previous day complete with analysis of same and forecasts for the coming day.  Bull Market had taken the liberty of having the Union’s clothes laundered and pressed during the night so they would all be fresh and clean and sharp for the days trading.  Couldn’t go in with blood stains and torn fabric after all.
“Why don’t you come with us?” said Corporate Man.
“What do you mean?” asked Bull Market.
“Well, we aren’t here to trade stocks, we’re trying to get to the top.  Find the man upstairs if you will, the one responsible for it all,” said Senior Executive.
“Are you kidding?  This is the biggest and best thing that’s ever happened to me.  I’ve never made more money,” said Bull Market.
“Yeah, we get that,” said Business Woman.  “But when are you gonna go home and do something will that money?”
Bull Market looked puzzled.  He’d never considered this.  “I don’t know.  When they ask me to leave, I guess.  I mean, I can’t stop now, right?  I’m winning.  I’m on a roll.  You’ll see.  Let’s head to the floor and take up positions.  Once you feel that buzz, score that first big trade, then you’ll see.”

Monday, March 18, 2013

Chapter 189

Franklin Buck was sweating.  He wished he still had that beach towel.  Then he could wipe his dripping forehead or fashion some sort of head wrap to collect all this perspiration.  The sweat that came with all this running.
He streaked down bejeweled corridors, with gilded molding.  The gems were, most certainly, foil-backed faceted plastic and the gold probably cheap spray paint.  He’d learned that much.
Behind him, in full pursuit, was a band of heavily armed guards with shiny scimitar swords.  The personal guard of the Nigerian Prince.  Why scimitars?
All this trouble for simply trying to help.  Franklin gritted his teeth and the ache in his side worsened.
He never should have accepted that check!

Friday, March 15, 2013

Chapter 188

As mentioned previously, The After Hours Lounge was designed to cater to powerful, obscenely wealthy men with outlandish, hedonistic needs.  Therefore the available lodgings for these lust swollen entrepreneurs required a great amount of square footage in which to house all of these seething, nigh ritualistic, orgies that were sure to take place.  A supply of extra beds ensured that, should multiple platforms of sexual conflagration be required, then guests would not be left wanting.
Though the sexual impetus had evaporated, the extra space had not been retroactively converted into additional units or broken up into more useable, or economically logical units.  Current clientele found the ample floor area an enhancement to that superstar feeling they craved and often found the need to host large, post trade parties for select associates in which recordings of the days financial events might, once again, be viewed and appreciated.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Satisfied Customers 16

Do you have business venture that might seem a bit unmarketable?  Odd even?  Something that someone somewhere might dare to dub… insane?  Then you need to buy The Tragic Death of Corporate Man and your problems will be solved.  Take this Satisfied Customer for instance…

She had a dream.  A dream of hybridization and genetic modification.  A human vegetable.  Man fruit.  She was laughed out of the offices of all the big Ag companies for her cavalier notions of how far our DNA tamperings could go.  But it’s she who’s laughing now.

And what was this crazy idea?  What scared those distorters of nature so much that even they in their corporate-god-complex balked? 

Belly squash. 

This woman, this mad genius, developed a method by which she could plant a seed within the navel of man, usually a squash or melon of some sort, and, through careful destruction of his genetics on a cellular level, force the growth of delicious produce.  Of course, this left her with a marketing nightmare.  Not only are impregnated males of any kind a hard sell to the general public, but the mental capacities of these human gardens are left quite barren.

She overcame these hurdles though and became the sole owner of first commodity able to label itself as a meat and a vegetable.  She targeted rich epicureans with a taste for impossible to find delicacies, and she became rich beyond all her wildest dreams.  All thanks to the lessons she discovered within the pages of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man.   Oh, and she developed a little side business as well.  Remember those men whose minds ended up a toxic wasteland?  Well it turns out that they are an extremely giddy lot, and they have proven a pleasure at social functions and corporate retreats; their presence commanding very high sums.  Though their sense of personal space leaves much to be desired.

Don't be the last one in your petri dish to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Chapter 187

“So apparently these booths were used for lap dances in the old days,” said Bull Market squirming around chairs that rode up against glossy leathered walls and crowded around a small table.  “That’s why the room’s so small.  Normally there’s only two or three chairs in here at a time.  It’s not so snug then.  OH!  Here it is.  Look.”
Bull Market gestured to a television screen which hung from the wall like a framed landscape.  On it was a man making a series of complex gestures and emphatic facial expressions.  That man was Bull Market.  Text scrolled across the bottom of the screen displaying financial figures. Pie charts and graphs popped in and out of the upper right corner.
“Watch this.  I dump a tech stock just before the price plummets.  Made a killing.”
The image reset, displayed the same footage, but this time in slow motion.  A voiceover, which was far too excited for the material being shown, offered a play by play of the event and then went on to examine gains figures and percentage yields.  He passed it back over to the studio and three people in slick green blazers discussed the amazing portfolio of the man called Bull Market.
“Awesome!  Wasn’t that awesome?” said Bull Market.  Before any response was made, a waitress, dressed like a very skilled secretary, arrived with food.  The Union, realizing how starved they all were, forwent politeness and etiquette and converged on the platters like chortling pigs.
“Good God, when did you guys last eat?” Bull Market asked.
“Thirteenth floor,” Business Woman replied.
Bull Market looked confused.
“What day is this?” asked Corporate Man.
Bull Market looked even more confused.
“I… I don’t know,” said Bull Market.  Then he smiled.  “I haven’t thought a lot about dates and stuff.  You know, with all this money making I’ve been doing.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that.  And we saw you on the instant replay,” said Corporate Man.  “But what is this place exactly?  It looks like Wall Street.”
Bull Market laughed.  “Wall Street’s like a backwater, country road compared to this place.  Everything happens here first.  If the Dow Jones drops, or NASDAQ shows a gain, you can bet it’s because of what we did here the day before.  This is the true stock market.”
“Can you show us?” asked Senior Executive.
“Well, yeah, obviously.  I mean you guys wouldn’t be here if they weren’t going to let you compete.”
“Then let’s go,” said Corporate Man.
“Wait, wait, wait.  No rush.  I’m still eating,” said Business Woman.
This comment spurred a collection of head tilts, deep sighs, eye rolls, grins, and even some nods of approval.  Those nodding followed the gesture with an increased shoveling of food into mouth.
“Market’s closed right now,” Bull Market said.  “It’ll open up again in the morning.”
A moment of silence followed.  As much silence as can be expected while at a table full of heartily eating business types.
“Are there hotel rooms on this floor?” asked Senior Executive.
“Oh yeah.  Hey!  You should all come back to my suite,” Bull Market said.
“That’s tempting, but we should get some rooms and get some sleep,” said Corporate Man.  “I don’t know when any of us has had a chance to sleep recently.”
“No, you got to come.  Besides, these rooms are huge.  We could have them bring in a few more beds and we’d all fit.  With room to spare.”

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Satisfied Customers 15

Not all Satisfied Customers wind up rich beyond their wildest imaginations.  Some find that they are so taken with The Tragic Death of Corporate Man that they want to experience it on a daily basis.  Take this man for instance.  After reading the book he decided that something so great should not have so many typos and grammatical errors.  So he became an official Corporate Man proofreader.  This man goes though each and every copy inspecting them for quality and accuracy.  He was unaware that the book’s supposed errors were actually coded messages and an entire print run had to be scrapped after he made corrections.  Don’t worry though.  He wasn’t fired.  The staff felt bad since he’d completely missed the whole secret message boat.  So they showed him how to crack the code and every copy of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man has been perfect ever since. 

Don't be the last one on your block to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Chapter 186

 The After Hours Lounge was initially established in the 1980’s when the typical businessman was typically male.  Not only was the industry of commerce a completely male dominated enterprise, but those males were of a variety whose egos could only be stroked by a steady flow of objectified women and mass amounts of cocaine.  Therefore, when the After Hours Lounge was commissioned, the only logical form it could take was that of a lavish strip club with mirrored coasters and plenty of bathroom stalls to powder one’s nose in.
Subsequent generations have all but abandoned the notion of sex and drugs as their ego booster of choice; their primary one at least.  Whether this is to be attributed to the influx of women into the corporate environment, the steady emasculation of the male gender, or the proliferation of twenty-four hour sports channels into popular culture is hard to say.  The After Hours Lounge, however, has gone through similar changes.  Gone are the seedy accoutrements of the flesh trade, replaced by the glitz and hype of the sportscaster set.
Where there once stood a long stage, with dirty dance poles at either end, now sits a repurposed bar area with a bank of plasma screen televisions.  Each private booth, once the abode of indifferent lap dances and other, less reputable jobs, contains a wall mounted, hi-def flat screens.  The bathrooms, likewise, feature high resolution monitors on the backs of stall doors and above urinals.  The overabundance of media screens were provided by management for the express purpose of catering to its clientele’s desire to watch replays and play by play analysis of the day’s trading.
These days, the patrons of The After Hours Lounge would much rather watch themselves make money than see their hard won gains disappear into the g-string of some cheap entertainer.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Satisfied Customers 14

Our final Satisfied Customer for our call-center-focused week is very special indeed. She, like our hero Corporate Man and his associates Business Woman, Senior Executive, and the rest, is a card-carrying union member. She is (just check out the official jacket) a Teamster. Now, we don't know what you've heard, but we still sense a negative undertone from the Teamster name. We don't believe any of the wild rumors ourselves, but sometimes it's better to be safe than sorry so we've asked this operator to close her eyes to protect her identity. Technically, reading non-company approved literature while on the job is against union bylaws (at least we’re pretty sure) so we better not allude to that fact or insinuate that she was doing so, even though we've gone to great lengths to protect her identity. But I don't think the Teamsters would mind. Corporate man is a part of the Union after all and he fights for, among many other things, workers rights. So seriously, it's okay. We're on the same side. Whatever happened with Jimmy, we don't care.

Sorry, where were we? Oh yeah, Cherie. I mean, this completely anonymous call-center operator. Somehow she got rich, and somehow it was because of the Corporate Man book.  And it definitely was not because she defied the Union or anything like that.

Don't be the last one in your cube-area to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Chapter 185

“Welcome to the After Hours Lounge,” said a man in a very expensive suit.  “Am I correct in assuming that you are virgins to this establishment?”
“This is our first time here, yes,” said Corporate Man.
The well dressed host escorted them into a large room with a very long bar along one side.
“I’m afraid you’re a little too late to beat the dinner rush and a bit too early to benefit from the settling up.  As soon as something becomes available, I will seat you.  I’m sure you will find the bar to be an adequate distraction.”
The host shuffled away and the Union approached the long counter.  An amber light bathed the dark stained wood and brass fixtures.  Recessed in the wall behind the bar were thousands of bottles of various shapes displayed in a rich cobalt light.  Five or six bartenders slid and writhed from customer to customer, mixing up every kind of cocktail imaginable.
“You think there might be some food at the bar?” Demand asked.
“Why don’t you guys find out.  And get us some drinks,” said Business Woman.  “Me and Supply are gonna run off to the ladies room.”
The women quickly strode away, Business Woman muttering something about how she should have peed when they were in that fake gym and that she was shocked her bladder hadn’t burst.
Corporate Man and Senior Executive went up to the bar to get the drinks and make inquiries about food while Commander Credit and Demand sought out and empty space and stools enough to seat them all.
“Junior?  Junior is that you?” a man snorted as Senior Executive tried to flag down the bartender.  The man was large and stout, like an aging football player or an old professional wrestler.  His face was bovine and thick.
Senior Executive looked at the man and then, after a moment, he said, “Bull?  God, what are you doing here?  And it’s Senior Executive now.”
The man tilted his head, eyes rolling, and made an exasperated sound.  “Oh you won’t believe the things I’ve been through in the past few–  Wait.  Is that… Is that Corporate Man?”
Corporate Man smiled and said, “Good to see you, Bull Market.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.  This all started because of you, you know?” Bull Market said, shaking his head.  “These guys in suits came up to me saying, ‘Codename: Bull?’  I said, no.  That it was just, Bull.  Bull Market to be exact, but that, yeah, that was me.  And these guys rough me up, pop me into the trunk of their car.”
Senior Executive gave Corporate Man a puzzled look.   Corporate Man shrugged and said, “I’m sorry you got hassled.”
“No. No.  It all worked out.  They took me to their base and this hard-assed bitch on the east side of town ripped her boys new assholes when she saw me.  Said something about how she’d nearly sent out a report announcing the capture of Codename: Bull.  These guys tell her that I said that I was the Bull and she said, ‘No.  This is Bull Market.  He worked with Corporate Man, but he isn’t Corporate Man.’  Well, I was about to get into it with them, seeing as how we’re teammates, when she dismisses her lackeys and buzzes for a sniveling secretary guy who apologizes to me, assures me that they meant me no harm, and that they’d like to invite me in on a little business opportunity to make amends.  Anyway, long story short, they brought me here and I’ve been making bank ever since.  I see they finally found you and got you involved, too.”
Corporate Man narrowed his eyes and took a slow breath.  Then he said, “Yeah.  Something like that.  What can you tell me about this place Bull?”
“You don’t know?”
“We just arrived.”
“Oh.  Awesome!  Come with me.  I did really well today and booked a private booth in the back.  I’ll explain everything.”
“Wait a second,” said Senior Executive.  “We need to get the others.”
“Others?  Who else is here?  Oh!  Is Business Woman with you?  I’d kill to see her again.”

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Satisfied Customers 13

You never know what a call-center employee actually looks like when you're talking to them on the phone. Take this Satisfied Customer for example. Is it a ball of hair propped on a sweater? A tiny shrunken head with a regular sized mouth and lips under a vast mane of hair with a headset lost somewhere within dark curls? One of Corporate Man's many enemies, cleverly infiltrating a call center in order to gain access to literature that reveals many secrets of highfinance and corporate economics?
All you can really be sure of when you're on the phone with a call-center operator is that there is cake for someone's birthday somewhere in the building or that a themed potluck is spread out in the breakroom. The crappy service you are receiving might be the result of sentient hair creatures, shrunken-head-bigmouths, or a clever enemy of our hero Corporate Man, but more than likely it is because you are interrupting operators just as they got to the part about the sharks, keeping them away from the potluck in the breakroom, or preventing them from filling their mouth with delicious cake.

Don't be the last one in your cube-area to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Satisfied Customers 12

Today we examine another Satisfied Customer who comes to the world of Corporate Man through call-center work. Taking a slightly different approach this operator maintained the illusion of exemplary service while answering calls. However he also took note of each caller's personal information and would call them back at his leisure, usually in the extremely early hours of the morning, and read random chapters from The Tragic Death of Corporate Man in a breathy, rumbling, Barry White voice. The first chapter was always for free, but additional chapters required a hefty PayPal transaction.

Don't be the last one in your cube-area to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Chapter 184

Franklin Buck was growing bored with his terror.  Would this, by all guesses, fatal plummet ever end?  Not all of the descent since that first drop off had been free fall.  A majority to be sure, but after a while he’d noticed a gradual leveling off, some wide corkscrewing, a few more chasm-like drops, and even a wiggling zigzag sort of motion. The final result of all that had been impatience. 
Boredom even.
During part of his fall the fact that he was dropping toward his death had slipped his mind.  He found himself wondering if his lawn needed mowing and, if so, could he get by for another week or so without doing the edging.
A new structural element in the shaft brought Franklin’s attention back to his current plummeting state.  The tube’s color shifted to a bright purple and arched upward and over, throwing Franklin into a series of dizzying loops.  His speed decreased dramatically.  Then he was poured into a green, translucent section of tubing which traced a lazy, shallow, downward track.  He could see through the tube wall, but there wasn’t much to see.  Concrete, pipes, and the occasional section of green, translucent, human transport tube.
His feet bumped against something soft and his forward progress stopped.  He looked up and saw a round hatch.  There was a silver lever on one side of the hatch door and a towel rack on the other with a plush beach towel hanging from it.
Franklin shrugged, grabbed the beach towel, and opened the hatch.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Satisfied Customers 11

Continuing with our series featuring call-center employees turned Satisfied Customers we now shine the spotlight on this operator who used a natural sense of ingenuity and Corporate Man gleaned lessons to devise a strategy that would allow her to comply with the demands of her job while advancing herself up the economic ladder.

In between calls she completely rewrote call-center scripting to better accommodate her long-term goals. Gone were any phrases that required active listening and/or involved problem-solving. In their place were strings of generic platitudes and filler. While she absorbs the intricate philosophies of Corporate Man, her mouth reflexively mutters a memorized list which includes gems such as: yeah that's too bad, uh huh, I know what you're saying, really, that does sound terrible, I'm sure it will all get sorted out, well do what you got to do, it's been taking care of, try not to worry so much, perhaps you wouldn't be so upset if you’d calm down, and I'm hanging now.

She's in the process of selling her scripts to corporations around the country, and US dedicated call centers in India, China, and the Philippines. Recently she began working from home, taking most of her calls from a wireless headset as she works on various household projects or, weather permitting, tends her vegetable garden. "Honestly, I don't even realize that I'm taking calls half the time it's become so automatic," she said in a recent speech at a conference on call-center technology. "I've even started wearing a headset to bed and take calls while I sleep."

Don't be the last one in your cube-area to own the all new 
Book Two of The Tragic Death of Corporate Man. Follow this link and purchase as many copies as you're able.  It's for a good cause.

Monday, March 4, 2013

Satisfied Customers 10

In this week's batch of Satisfied Customer updates we will be focusing on a specific field of employment, a sector of the workforce that we can absolutely not do without, the secret envy of our hearts: the call-center worker. Simultaneously we will investigate a recent anomaly plaguing call centers across the country, something which affects us all, the decline in service from our beloved call-center operators.
There is but one cause for this anomaly, and that is Corporate Man.
Recently a box of Corporate Man books was detained at a distribution hub for a huge delivery corporation. Reports are unclear but it is thought that the package was fishy in nature, having an air of intelligence and sarcastic wit about it. It sat for months in a cage with the overnighted (an subsequently confiscated) controlled substances and mislabeled fecal-swipe lab packs until one night when an impromptu employee party (having something to do with a recent layoff or closure announcement) required a little kick and the cage was, naturally, opened to satisfy this need. At some point during the festivities the box containing the Corporate Man books magically fell open spilling its blessed contents onto the warehouse floor. Copies quickly circulated throughout the company further derailing productivity, especially in the call centers of this failing company.   Which brings us to our first Satisfied Customer of the week.

She claims that the book simply “arrived on her desk one day” and that, at first, she only read chapters of it in between calls.  As she became more engrossed in the narrative she started placing customers on extended holds to get in just a few more pages. Then it was on to equipment sabotage – a mangled headset here a damaged phone line there – and finally the disappearance of her phone altogether. She requisitioned a dry erase board and began working the economic formulas contained within the pages of the Corporate Man text.  And after that came the Wall Street investments.  Forbes is doing a piece on her next month detailing her successes.

Chapter 183
The metal-rung ladder ended at a platform which was much like a miniature, wrought iron version of a train station platform.  There was a door against the back wall and a small plate on the door which read: Members Only.
Senior Executive knocked on the door and after a few moments the “Members Only” plaque slid to the side with a flick and a pair of small, tight-set eyes peered out from inside.
“Who’re you?” a deep voice asked.
“You don’t recognize us?” said Senior Executive.
“No.  You members?”
“Would we be here if we weren’t?”
After an uncomfortably long pause the voice asked, “What’s the password?”
Senior Executive glanced at Corporate Man, then Business Woman, then Commander Credit.  His eyes flared slightly, seeking a plausible response to the password question.
Corporate Man stepped forward and said, “What password?  We don’t need a password.  Open the door you fool.”
“Good,” the voice muttered.  “There’s no password.  Still, that don’t show that you belong.”
“Of course we belong,” said Business Woman.
“How am I to know?” asked the voice.
After another hesitant moment Business Woman said, “You must be new so we’ll cut you a break.  Take a look at his portfolio.  That should tell you all you need to know.”
Senior Executive and Business Woman exchanged a volley of looks in which Senior Executive silently asked Business Woman what on Earth she was thinking, where did she come up with her scheme, and his beliefs that it, whatever it was, would never work.  Business Woman, in her gestures and expressions, conveyed a message which implied to Senior Executive that it sucked to be him right now.
Senior Executive moved to the window, held up his smart phone, and showed the eyes belonging to the deep voice a series of financials which were quite impressive.
A latch clunked and the heavy door eased back.
“My apologies, sir.  Gentlemen.  Ladies.  Please come in,” said the voice.
There was a metallic hum as the door slid inwards and then to the left.  The Union walked inside but there was no doorman or attendant of any sort.  Affixed to back of the door, at the same height of the “Members Only” plaque, was a clunky black box.  A yellow extension cord dropped from the box and ran to a nearby wall outlet.
“So… I guess we just make ourselves comfortable then?” said Business Woman. 
There was a long arched corridor extending from the doorway, a procession of fluted columns flanking either side.  A burst of yellow-orange light flared from the fluting.  No benches, seats, or stools with which to make oneself comfortable, stood anywhere along the passage.
“Well, no use loitering about, right?” said Corporate Man stepping forward and striding confidently down the hall.
At the end of the hall was a massive set of doors.  Senior Executive tried to open them but they were locked.  Adjacent to the double doors was a smaller, less grandiose hallway with a modest door at the end.  Perched above the entrance in bright neon green, a sign advertised: The After Hours Lounge.  There was no discussion amongst the Union, and barely an exchange of glances pre-empted a simultaneous shrug, followed by a uniform migration toward the lounge.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Chapter 182

When sliding down a waterslide one can affect the direction of one’s body enough to send it up the wall of the slide.   This may be a nominal and futile effort in avoiding the ultimate destination of the descent but it is, in fact, true.
Also true in fact was the number of exits from the corkscrew tube that were in existence as it drops from the twenty-sixth floor. 
That number would be two.
One such exit would deposit the unwary traveler on the ledge at the top of the ever-descending staircase leaving him or her at the entrance to the thirteenth floor.  The other exit places the traveler in a much more… subterranean location.
A third relevant fact has to do with the corkscrew tube’s composition and pattern.  At a point conveniently on level with the thirteenth floor the material of the tube changes from black PVC to white and levels from falling corkscrew to a relatively flat cruise.  At this transition point there is a knob shape, something akin to a handhold on one of those indoor rock climbing gym, in the upper part of the side wall.  In order to exit at the thirteenth floor one would need to reach out, snag the knob shape as they slid by thus shifting the momentum of their body up toward the ceiling of the tube.  The inevitable downswing that follows would hurl them up the opposite wall and into a rounded hole-like opening.
If successful the thirteenth floor stair would be gained.  If not, the traveler would encounter a sudden dip at the end of the relatively level area.  They would then plunge down a nearly vertical freefall.
It was Franklin Buck’s misfortune and ignorance which caused him to sigh with relief when the corkscrew leveled off into welcome white and then glide right past the knob and the alternate exit and finally to his downward fate.