In the building’s unfamiliar top floor, the gray hallways and countless offices were confusing, and twice he had to stop in an office doorway and ask for directions. Clocks at regular intervals pounded the lost minutes away from his desk. Finally, large doors loomed at a hallway’s end.
Harold checked in with the secretary wearing deep purple lipstick, and she escorted him through the inward set of doors. An enormous office ending at a wall of windows to a world of skyscrapers beyond.
Desked in front of the wall, the company president stood up and said, “Ah, Mr. Hardy. We finally meet. Please, have a seat.”
A firm handshake and sitting in the firm chair before the desk. Harold wondering if this was how it felt to be in a dank basement, roped to a chair, with a single, bare lightbulb showering harsh light down upon your eyes. At least the view was better in this office.
The president cleared his throat. “First, your manager talks to you, and then an increasing hierarchy of directors. Now you’re here. Tell me. Why do you continue wearing polka-dotted and striped socks despite these requests? Are you the mastermind of some devious, rebellious plot?”
Harold settled back in the chair. “Not exactly, sir.”
copyright © 2021 Dave Williams