scribblings
So I've been writing these "Cautionary Tales of Business Ethics" - they're little short stories.
I'll share one I wrote today on lunch break:
Ghosts of the Past
by Andy Steele
John Simmons was a customer service agent on the phones for the Reallocations department. He's usually the first person at work in the morning, and he always likes to start his day by enjoying a fresh cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. When he's not busy, John likes to put his feet up on his desk and gaze out the window at the birds flittering around in the trees outside. He knows that this is the best cubicle in the department, because the window view isn't obscured by the back up power generator outside. It is also within reach of the laser printer, and his computer monitor faces conveniently away from his team manager. Prying eyes bother John, a lot.
What John didn't know was that Sarah, a member of the custodial staff, liked to look at the comic strips that John cut out and put up in his cube. She really thought they were funny, and slowly but surely, she removed one of them every week to keep for herself. John never knew why they disappeared, but he always replaced them with new ones, so he generally has a steady collection of about 20 strips covering one part of his cube wall. The rest of the wall sections were adorned with notices cut out of the obituaries. Sarah did not take any of those. John liked to think that the memories of those that have passed are what keeps the humor alive and ever-changing, and conversely it served to honor their spirits.
One day John was talking with a client on the phone, when Sarah approached behind him and started emptying his garbage bin. He was used to this, and normally didn't pay much attention, but something about today made John notice her admiring his comics. It was when he started to wrap things up with his caller that he noticed her start to reach for one of them. John was furious. Sarah saw his eyes flash at her as he was saying goodbye on the phone. She quickly pushed her cart away and ducked around the corner.
This spoiled things for John. No longer was his cubicle the bastion of greatness he once perceived it as. His cubicle was no better than that of Tina Weathers or Joe Grady who both share a grim view of the back up power generator. He knew now that this cycle of renewal was only due to some thief pilfering his comics right out from under his nose. The carefully crafted collage of wit and humor no longer pleased the memories of the deceased. John started to cry and put on his jacket, he told his manager he was sick and left early for the day.
EPILOGUE:
The phone in John's apartment rang and rang. His manager left several messages over the last week asking how things were going. The last few messages were to inform John of his benefited time running out and his impending separation of employment with the company. It wasn't until the following week that the neighbors started complaining of the smell. It was yet another week that passed when Sarah placed John's obituary next to the latest stolen comic on her broom closet door. She closed the door and went back to work.
The End.