We "Hire" a New Supervisor.

Time is fluid. Maybe it doesn't exist at all. Maybe it is a fiction, produced by humanity to enslave people when a society reaches a level when slavery is frowned upon. It is certainly not a constant. Once you are stuck in a budget meeting with upper management you understand how time is an instrument of torture. Minutes hammer you, seconds drain your will to live.

"This year has been golden in terms of productivity per unit. We have produced far fewer units, but each one took less time. We are really cranking out the units, just not very many, and nobody is really buying them. However, the units we do sell are increasingly profitable." On and on Geoff  Gordon, from production bragged. "We have reduced our time and cost per unit to almost half of last years expense." Geoff carefully avoided mentioning sales, or marketing, but his glance at Jill spoke volumes. His gaze dripped contempt for the departments that weren't production. Geoff was big, and had beautiful hair, wavy, and thick and always perfect. It made him look taller than the  6' 3" he was, and brilliantly powerful, though he wasn't.

Jill was next.

"While sales have languished a little this year we have made inroads into key markets. Many large retailers looked closely at our product, and we could have closed some very big deals had the quality been a little higher." She smiled at Geoff. At least her lips were curved upward, but it had no warmth. Her white, smooth skin, under her long, dark, red hair glowed with bitter animosity, and her revulsion was obvious.

She droned on about bounce rates, retention, key accounts, and CRM, and it seems there were some charts about per customer purchases, but it is a little foggy. I may have fallen asleep.

Finally, "Plus, many of the key customers cut back on orders, saying we needed to introduce something new to the pipeline. Everybody loved the Bulbous 200 when it was introduced, it was the hottest thing, but that was 3 years ago, and that is a lifetime in this industry." She flashed a mocking grin at the Willy from R and D. It was cold, hateful and shared her complete disregard for the whole department.

I tired to figure out how to play a game of Tetris on my phone without drawing attention to myself. I had been here for 3 days this morning, I was hungry, thirsty and nature called, and things were just getting started. We had 4 more departments to go, then cross examination. We would never get out of here alive.

Willy took the stand next, he was long winded, and constantly used "ummm" as filler. This would never end. "We, ummmm, have new...." he paused, coughed, and started to flail around wildly, clutching his chest, and grunting, cursing, and moaning. I thought he was having a heart attack.

Almost at once he stood, straight, erect, and his eyes glowed, red, horrible, and ominous. In a deep voice that echoed terribly around the room he said, "I am Siritor, flail of the netherworld, monster from the deep, demon from the ancient past, this is a hostile takeover. I now own 51 percent of the stock, and have the board of directors locked in a dungeon where they will support my every decision. Are there any questions?"

"Could I take tomorrow off? I have a dental appointment, I need a filling, and I hate coming to work with face all numb." I asked.

Yes, that will be fine." Siritor, said, grabbing a bagel, dismissing the meeting, and walking towards the CEO's office. Almost as one three department heads said, "hey, we didn't get our turn." Siritor laughed and kept walking.

This might work out ok.

I made a new friend.

This morning, I went to the kitchen, and as is normally the case, I emptied the dishwasher, and made coffee. On the counter was a cup, turned upside down. Thinking maybe somebody trapped a spider underneath it I just left it alone. Grappling with a spider is no way to start your week.

Attached to the coffee maker, though, was a note, "Don't move coffee cup, an ancient, evil demon of the Moloch variety(the abomination of Annon, the devourer of children, and the innocent) is trapped under there. I accidentally released it opening recently discovered artifacts. I will dispose of it first thing Monday, Bob, Archaeology." Helpfully, it had an arrow drawn that was pointed in the direction of the overturned cup.

That was quite a relief, it wasn't a spider.

"Hey," I asked, "how's it going under there?"

"It's OK, I thought by now you would have better drinking vessels, this is not much of an
improvement from Babylon, though the high gloss finish would make it easier to clean, I suppose. And I love the decorative, contrasting rings, they really add a nice touch." He answered very politely.

"Oh, and that is bigger than the average coffee mug," I assured him. "It is Pamela's, she works in Customer Service, and it is quite a trip from the kitchen to her cubicle."

"What's a cubicle?" He asked.

"Oh, it is like a little room, with short, movable, carpet covered walls. It gives the illusion of privacy, and significance without providing either. We have hundreds of them on every floor, and people come and occupy them every day, working at various tasks. All designed to advance the greater good of the company, and provide profits for the shareholders and upper management."

"Sounds like hell, and I would know," He said and we both laughed.

"Hey, do you want to see one?" I asked.

"No, I told Bob I would wait here. But, if you could put one of those donuts under the cup I would be very grateful, I haven't had a bite to eat in over 5,000 years."

"Sure," I said, sliding a donut under the mug. "Hey, if you get out, I am on the third floor, down at the west end of the building, I am the one doing all the work, you can't miss me, my name is Tim."

"If Bob has time we will swing by and see you in action, Tim, Thanks for the donut."

You know, sometimes Monday is not so bad.