Enslaved by the Bonus Whores:
A Corporate Man Adventure Serial
The events
masterfully described in the following story are entirely fictitious and should
in no way be attributed to, or suspected to be about, any person or persons
living or dead. Any resemblance to real
life persons, places, or things should be considered entirely
coincidental. The following story
concerns the events of an economically themed superhero. That should have been your first clue as to
the fictionality of its nature. The use
of the word fictionality should be further evidence of the madeupedness of the
following. However, if you should feel
that your actions and or attitudes align with some of the more deplorable
characters described in the following story, especially where business
practices are concerned, perhaps it is time to reevaluate yourself and consider
making a few changes. Just what sort of
horrible person are you anyway?
Addendum 1.
He stumbled
into his office that night, tired, and more than a little sore. The case of the Corporate Mind Hive had ended
badly and all he wanted was a hot meal and some sleep. He would get neither.
There was a woman at his desk,
sitting in the dark, back-lit by the street lamp outside. Her body silhouetted against the horizontal
blinds, her hair an orange volcano pouring down her shoulders.
“This is a little cliché isn’t it?”
he said, walking past the desk toward the small refrigerator in the corner. There was no beer in the fridge. There should be beer, he thought, if only to
maintain the overused formula of this particular type of meeting. But he didn’t like beer. He was a juice man. And besides, you weren’t supposed to drink at
the office these days and he was always working. He was the epitome of an office worker.
The
business executive.
The Corporate Man.
“Your secretary told me you needed
a break from corporate intrigue and thought a little economic mystery might
help,” she said.
He flipped on the lights.
“Well, it won’t,” he said lifting a
carton of milk from the refrigerator.
“What I need is a break. Period. By law I am entitled to those.”
“Every couple of hours or so, I am
told.”
Behind thick, black-rim glasses, his
eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He
was on the verge of saying something, but after a long moment he simply turned,
opened a cupboard door, fished out bowl, set it on the narrow counter of the
impossibly small kitchenette, opened another cupboard door, and grabbed a box
of cereal. Cap’Tal Gains. A high fiber, multigrain cereal, in a variety
of fun, currency shapes. On the box an
explosive, text-filled, star shape advertised, “Look inside for a chance to win
a real gold bar!”
He shook the cereal into the
bowl. A mix of shapes – circular,
rectangular and dollar-signed – fell in a cascade of wholesome browns ranging
from tan to umber. He poured milk over
the cereal and then hunted around for a spoon.
Not just any spoon. The spoon. The silver
spoon. It was difficult amongst the
stainless steel flatware but he found it.
He took a bite and crunched noisily through the first mouthful.
Then he took another.
“Alright,” he said once that second
bite was down, “what can I do for you?”
The woman took a deep breath, tears
wet her eyes, and she began.