Theme: "There were a helluva lot of things they didn't tell me when I hired on with this outfit."
Initial thoughts: This was inspired by a painting of a grizzled old cowboy my father had in his study. The phrase was the caption under the painting. I think it applies to a lot of situations in life, and is something each of us comes to understand, whether we want to or not. But what kind of a situation involving this would be worth writing? Something of great promise that didn't deliver? Or if it did deliver, maybe the sacrifice isn't worth it? or maybe it is? What might be worth it?
Bartol looked at the mountain of papers on his desk
and sighed. It wasn’t the work itself
that he minded. It wasn’t the long hours
– the pay was really good. It wasn’t
even the monotony of it all, the constant shuffling of papers the daily minutia
that seemed to never end. It was the
secrets. That was what really bothered
him. He couldn’t talk about anything he
did. He couldn’t joke about it with the
other employees. He couldn’t say a
word. He simply came in, worked hard,
and went home. It wasn’t what he was led
to believe.
He
remembered what they told him in business school, that accounting was a really
great way to keep your finger on the pulse of the business world. You would know what was going on, and if you
were smart, you could parlay that into great things. You could end up going far. That was exactly what Bartol had in mind when
he was hired to work at the esteemed Holcomb & Company. What he got was a series of problems, one
after the other, for the giant retailer.
No matter what he did, those problems didn’t seem to be getting any
better. In fact, they were getting
worse.
It
started simply, with a few invoices that he couldn’t find records for, and
before long, that seemed to be the bulk of his paperwork. The minute he would track them down, there
would be others that appeared. It looked
like the company was losing money rapidly.
That in itself wasn’t odd. It
happened to companies that were mismanaged.
Bartol estimated that Holcomb & Company would have to close its
doors in six months, at the latest. He
tried to tell his supervisor, who just told him to be quiet and do his
work. That’s when he noticed the
secrets.
No one
seemed to be talking to anyone else, beyond the pleasantries of the day. It wasn’t quite normal, but everyone was
behaving as though ignoring the problem would make it go away. Bartol started taking notes, trying to find
how the company was staying afloat. He
stayed late, he worked weekends. He took
paperwork home with him. No one stopped
him. He was never spoken to about how
long he was working, or at what.
His
alarm rang on his phone. It was
time. He scheduled this meeting with the
CEO a month ago, and now he would take all of his findings and report
everything he’d found. He wasn’t sure if
this was known or not. He no longer
cared. Picking up his file of printouts,
he walked out of his cubicle on the ninth floor and toward the elevators.
The
ride to the top floor and the administration offices was short. He recalled the last time he was up here, the
day he interviewed for the position. He
recognized the secretary out front, who still did things the old fashioned way –
shorthand, typing notices on a manual typewriter. He remembered thinking it was a very odd way
to do anything. Now, after seeing some
of the many things wrong with the company’s finances, her practices looked
quaint. Behind her, the long hallway was
paneled in a deeply polished dark wood paneling. It made it look like every stereotypical 1900’s
office building, he thought, like he should expect to see someone with a top
hat and cane emerge from any of the doors that lined the long hallway.
“Yes?” said the secretary.
“Hi, I’m
Bartol Andrucci. I have an appointment
with Mr. Holcomb.”
She
checked her appointment book
“Yes, I
see you here, Mr. Andrucci. Follow me,
please.” She stood and started down the
hallway, leading him to a large glass door that had “CONFERENCE ROOM” written
in a font that looked straight from the thirties on it.
“Mr.
Holcomb will be right with you. He’s
finishing up a call.”
“Thank
you,” said Bartol.
She
smiled and left, the door closing noiselessly behind her.
Bartol
went to the windows and looked out to the streets below. He was startled by a rather sudden voice
behind him.
“It’s a
great view, isn’t it? It’s such a shame
that you’re here to tell me I’m about to lose it all.”
Thanks for reading,
Me
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