Cracker's Crack

Cracker’s Crack d1
by brightonsauce


Wouterhagens [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)%5D

…

‘Chairman Noir, Chairman Noir, I like it..!’

Cracker spun in the chair, ‘a Chairman Noir,’ he mouthed the words the one last time. He liked these words, very much so. He placed his palms on the arm rests and shuffled his ample bulk into the recess of the plush leather chair. His feet didn’t quite reach the floor.

‘There’s plenty more where that came from. Executive range is always available to those who bring results for the Mcshaft Rib and Shake corporation. Let’s see those figures again,’ said Tom Bullitt, Standing at the window, his tie swung at his waist, his hands were pushed into slim hips.

Across the desk, Cracker leaned forward in his new chair. He licked his lips and reached for the mouse. One click and Debbie’s astute financial account spreadsheet filled his screen.

‘Impressive work,’ said Bullitt.

‘Thank you,’ said Cracker.

‘You know a man like you might achieve regional vice assistant manager. Think you could handle the extra challenge? said Bullitt.

‘Always with the right team at my back. I mean any team of yours at Mcshaft is bound to have the right stuff I call it.’

‘Good, good answer,’ said Bullitt, he stroked his jaw. ‘And how is this team, your team today here at the plaza?’

Cracker’s eyes shifted to the row of CCTV screens adjacent to his bureau. The new guy Roland, and Nancy and Micalia from Bratislava were slouched at a work station exchanging smiles. This was the opportunity for Cracker to demonstrate a higher managerial quality in action. He leaned into the microphone:

‘Workstation Eight, Workstation Eight. Get yourselves to the cold store. I want full inventory on beef, lamb and chicken portioning. Get to it.’

The figures, the grey silhouettes, departed the one screen, and they passed through into two others. With a click of his mouse Cracker observed the stairwell journey down toward basement destination.

‘Seems you run a tight ship,’ said Bullitt.

‘Thank you,’

‘How about you make it a little tighter? Portland’s operating with just the two greeters at their door. I heard Enrico Nandez is causing quite a stir at head office, played a round of golf with old Mcshaft Snr , Lucky Springs. Old man said he hadn’t laughed like that since his wife passed.

Cracker bit his cheek.

‘I’ll be seeing you, Cracker. Next Friday’s the Motivation weekender, I’ll see you there.’

‘Sure, sure,’ said Cracker, and he was left alone in his chair. For a while he watched proceedings on his screens, the restaurant service approaching midday. Then he clicked to Facebook. There they were in the sub-directory, his team of thirty.

Roland’s homepage stood impressive as ever, the stars and bars in background, the 7000 friends and his status ‘buy one get one half-price cocktail at Mcshaft every Tuesday.’

‘Good boy,’ said Cracker.

Micalia’s page was pretty with her cats, the national grandparents’ day reminder, and the portfolio of her snaps at the beach among the girls. Cracker recalled from interview their shared passion for beach volley-ball. Otherwise there was her page after page of Slovakian News, updates in Slovakian again. Maybe Cracker might have a ‘little word about the foreign.’

He clicked on to Nancy’s homepage. Some shit about a petition and the library. And what was this in the comments: health care, one-parent families? He clicked a sub-directory. Creative writing?

He made his decision. He messaged Debbie, ‘send her up.’