Ridiculous Activities of High Ages
Title: Ridiculous Activities of High Ages
Genre: comedy/dramatic
Characters: Gabriel Alistair O’Connell (millionaire), Hugh Patrick Matthews (architect), his 15 employees, his son Robert Seamus Matthews, two football pros not mentioned by name (one with Man City, the other with Sunderland).
Table: 2
Prompt: #31: Business
Word Count: 2.806
Rating: PG
Summary: This story begins as a comedy and ends as a tragedy. It’s about money and the dilemma when you have too much of it, not knowing what to do with.
Ridiculous Activities of High Ages
“At first I have to thank for your straight coming. I have to confess that I haven’t expected it so fast.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And I also want to thank for your financial help you will want to give us, I mean, you know, erm, you are here, so I think you may have a slight interest in our project and so I hope you will help us through.”
It was always the same with these slug-like, perfectly shaved young businessmen who are looking for financial advice. I wonder if he will even kiss my feet if I’ll keep my mouth shut for just a while. He looks a bit helpless and much older then his 40 years of age.
My name is Gabriel Alistair O’Connell and I’m 72 years old or young as I always prefer to say. Once I was a hard businessman and earned much money on the market but I’m also a bit eccentric like every old Irishman, I think. And now, in the last phase of my life, I want to enjoy it. Such conferences or call it meetings with sweating young men are pure fun to me. I know they always just want my money and I will always give it to them, but their projects have to be eccentric, like I am. Otherwise, if the project is just a lousy, boring or stupid building project or something like that, the lousy, boring and / or stupid gits won’t see any money of mine anyway.
But this project seemed to be interesting. It has some kind of evilness on his side and it’s funny. I’d like the idea to become the sponsor of a really nonsense project and that was it. In his first letter to me Mr Matthews hadn’t written not the most about his intentions, just that it belongs to football, including a naked-scene and a tattoo, but I tell myself, that all this together should gave an interesting project to put money in, so I decided to follow Mr Matthews’ begging for coming as fast as I was able to into his office for taking more details.
But at first I had to stand the always endless introduction to the whole team, the story of everyone’s life here in the bureau. I count them out: they were fifteen more or less interested looking people. I don’t think just one of them has got the slightest interest in what this conference is all about. More I think this project is a very private of Mr Matthews’ himself but he has to do it public for getting public money. I really think that was it what he tried for the first time - it hadn’t worked because the project was so silly. Then for maybe two or three days he was really upset, almost depressed where I became a part of his game.
It’s always the same with projects so many people are involved at: Firstly the public money will be denied and then they come to me. But then the whole team has yet worked on the project; so if they get fired they could tell stupid things about to the press, so you have to keep all people involved at the project right from the beginning, especially when it’s relay silly and eccentric. All of them know that it’s silly and eccentric but they earn good money for it, so they do their jobs and keep their mouths shut. It’s always their pale glances into their faces to show me they haven’t got the slightest interest in the project but work on it because of the money. That’s what never would satisfy me at all.
But enough with that nonsense talking. I’m here to get more information what about I should leave my good money here.
“Mr Matthews …”
My deep voice left a pale shadow around his eyes. He was suddenly fell into his chair and stirred upon me like a rabbit in front of a very hungry fox.
“Yes, Mr O’Connell …?”
“It’s very interesting what you have to say about your employees, but I’m here for the project. Would you give me the short version, please?”
He was a bit surprised obviously because other investors including the public office always wanted to know much more about the institute itself, the people are involved, but little about the project. So the next what happened was something like confused running chickens into a farm where some foxes suddenly came in. It was very interesting to look at, but after two minutes or so I got the information I was hoping for.
“It has all to do with the Premier League match between Manchester City and Sunderland. You know, Sunderland hasn’t got the slightest chance on wining the game so my … our … project can take place here. I want to give a player of Sunderland some money for tearing the shirt of some certain opponent.”
“That’s the project?”
“Yes …”
“And you don’t use the word corruption?”
“Erm … no …”
“Sounds funny, but I can’t see the sense in a whole, you know, please explain me what it means to you personally, because I do think it’s more or less personally when I look round in here. Is it all the same to you what players will be involved in that comedy or do you have concrete intentions about that very fact?”
“Yes, it has to be a special player …”
There it was a very long pause. I expected he would tell me his point of view I’ve so long waited for, but nothing else he said, so I had to take the leading role of this play once again.
“And what’s the concrete point of this … special event? I mean, you don’t really expect that I call it project any further, do you?”
“You may call it how you wish to.”
“Ah, ah, ah … don’t react like a little puppy. I can’t stand this silly behaviour. So, what’s the point then? Say it short, clear and understandable, please.”
“It’s a tattoo the player has on his upper left arm …”
“Yes, you’ve already mentioned it in your letter. So, you want to see it during the match?”
“Yes …”
“Why not after the match? You know, I’m not the greatest football fanatic ever, but you don’t have to to know that most players change their shirts after the final whistle with their opponents.”
“Yes, as you say - the most. But he does not.”
“Never?”
“I don’t know, but so far he hasn’t done.”
“Strange. Why?”
“I haven’t got the slightest idea. Maybe he’s a bit ashamed on his stature.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing at all, I think, but maybe he doesn’t want to show the whole world his stomach - not such muscular as some of his team-mates, you know, he’s a bit overweighed.”
“That’s ridiculous. I mean, he plays Premier League week in week out - so he has to be good anyway, hasn’t he?
“Surely.”
“You see. But what I don’t understand so far: Why are you interested to see his tattoo? You know, you are a man and married with a woman, have two sons I was informed - so, to come back to my first question about all this but haven’t got any answer from you about: What does it mean to you?”
“You want to hear an honest answer?”
“When you’d be so kind …”
“When I’d be really honest I’d have to prostitute myself in front of all my employees right now. You’d like to want that?”
“With great pleasure. But the right question that you have to ask to yourself should be: Do I want to prostitute myself in front of my men? What would you reply to that?”
“That’s easy: No - naturally.”
“Then, logically you shall not give an honest answer.”
I don’t want to bore you any further with these briefing-details, but I have to state once more how sympathetic this young guy Hugh Matthews was for me. He reminded me on my own son who surely doesn’t exist. You know, I had a wife, Gwen, lovely little person, but died too soon, now it’s almost twenty years ago and I don’t want to marry again. So, I think it was some kind of compensation going to young men like Mr Matthews, handing them out my money plus giving some advices for their remaining life, I was always sure all of them would have much more remaining than me. But some of them died soon after I helped them out. So I decided to give some more good advices and to ask much more about the projects, you know, the real intentions, just to know that my money will be needed indeed for some kind of project, not for drugs or illegal parties, car-races or something like that. I have to be sure on that, because I don’t want to be responsible for the death of some really young men or women who sometimes are also involved in car-crashes, coma-drinking and so on.
So also Mr Matthews had to go through it, but on him I was quite sure that he was an honest guy; his shyness in front of me wasn’t a bad manner to hide something - I just think he needed the money that much that he could hardly speak in my company or look straight into my eyes. Maybe he was a bit of ashamed and I believe it was quite private but not for himself - maybe he had strengthen the whole thing because of someone of his family, his wife or one of his children. So I left him alone with this subject but had a very last question before signing the cheque and going out of the door driving home for the five-o’clock-tea-
“Where will you watch the game?”
“In front of the television, I think. You know, I haven’t got the time … and the money going to Manchester on that Sunday afternoon.”
“Surely you have. I’ll send you four tickets for the COMS near the coaching zone - so you’ll have the best view on what’ll be going on, right?”
He just nodded a bit surprised. But he wasn’t really happy at all - I couldn’t noticed the slightest satisfaction into his eyes but a big tiredness I couldn’t forget till the matchday. Maybe he might expected that I would refuse his request for relief? So I decided to go to Manchester watching the game for myself, but especially Mr Matthews and his behaviour there.
The whole match he sat down in his seat watching the action on the pitch almost frightening or scaring. There was something like that into his eyes. His wife and his two sons on his sides were much more enthusiastically. I was sitting a few ranges above him, but he hasn’t taken any notice of myself. Maybe he was too concentrated on the match and his fear.
I don’t want to describe every second I was in the COMS - beautiful stadium anyway; will buy it one day - but have to tell you the most important part of the whole action: The Sunderland player did his job quite perfect, had even received neither a booking nor a sending off for tearing the City player’s shirt. It really looked like an accident and took place right in front of the coaching zone. The changing of the shirt didn’t took that long but long enough to make a picture from his upper left arm and consequently the tattoo that was the single target on that Sunday afternoon. One of my employees shot the picture and sent it to Mr Matthews. Then, about two weeks thereafter, I received a letter from him. Innit he explained everything and that was the cause why I quit this business spent my money on tables or horse races from now on:
Dear Mr O’Connell,
I can’t really write thank you for all you’ve put on this shameful project I had to use you for. I am so sorry for all the people who were involved. But the most I am sorry for the Manchester City player - I even can’t write his name down here, because I’m afraid about he could read it anyhow, then knowing all this on the pitch wasn’t an accident and surely would feel misused. I never wanted to go so far and I hoped someone had just said: STOP! That’s nonsense! In the retro perspective I see it like this, but at that time I was blind on that eye. But it doesn’t happen - no one raised a word against me. All were quiet and kept their mouths shut. All that happened because of the fucking money; I hope you’ll understand me in the right way: not especially your money but the money in a whole. There shouldn’t be any money, then there’ll be neither poor nor rich, but that’s idealism and I’m deviating.
Now I will be coming straight to the point, want to explain you my intentions I had, the real plan what all that happened for. At first I have to say that all this took place because of my first born son Robert. He is currently sixteen years old and in this age he’s in search for structures and heroes, you know, his own place in the world. I was never the man who had could impress him much, so he decided about one year ago to admire this very Manchester City player. Robbie was always interested in football - I was not. We never had much in common but at that special age you can easily loose your children out of pure ignorance about their growing interests. But I also had much to do at work, hadn’t that much time to spend to him. Then, at one day, I discovered that one special interest my son had in that player was his tattoo that he haven’t seen in a whole yet at that time. There this plan came straight into my mind: impress my son by doing something that’s important to him, so maybe he could proudly look upon me, so we could be closer again in the near future.
Many times I’ve heard the wise words: The path is the target, and when you reached it, this target isn’t important or interesting any more. I always laughed about it. I truly never thought that these were wise words at all. I always called them the words of weak, dumb and aimless people, because I’ve always reached my targets without any long path - I’ve never enjoyed any path at all I’ve walked onto my passed period of life. But my son is much different to me. I’ve told him my plan, such focused on it, that I haven’t noticed that he wanted to discover it for himself, that he wanted to go the path alone. I was again just thinking about myself.
But after the match something happened. I’ve informed me on that Manchester City player - I really wanted to know more about him, the person off the pitch. I wish I had done it before, because I have to confess, that he is quite a nice guy, very loyal, friendly and the very contrary to myself: He doesn’t think that he is the middle of the earth; I think, he even doesn’t think that he’s worth a single laudative headline. So I was always thinking that without my, my management and my intelligent the whole world would be doomed in just a second.
With all these information about my son’s hero in mind I went to his room but he wasn’t there. Also my wife didn’t know where he was gone. We’ve called the police and then on that late evening two officers stood in front of our door - together with Robert. We sat down and talked. He shouted into my face that I would have been stolen his target. I would have been hard enough to find something unreachable - now he had to search for something else. In that very minute I couldn’t understand him, or just don’t wanted to understand him. We’ve never spoken again with each other after that late evening incident.
Now you are maybe asking yourself or me: Why do you write this letter to me? And you are right: You are not responsible for what happened into my family; I won’t accuse you of that. But I want to beg you if someone - similar to me - comes to you with the request for something similar to my stupid project: Please, keep your money and don’t give it to these stupid gits like you’ve done with me.
Best regards but I hope I don’t hear from you again,
Hugh P. Matthews
Finis.
100 situations table