B.O.D.

BY: Jason P. Preu

    John Surcher liked to close his eyes and hum while he pissed.  He stood spread-legged in front of the urinal humming ‘Eleanor Rigby’ and thinking, I do not want to be at work today.  The bathroom door opened, interrupting his humming.  He could hear his boss talking outside.  His eyes immediately opened.  C’mon, C’mon, he urged himself to finish.  The last thing you need is – his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the closing door as it creaked shut.  The noise provided a discordant backdrop for the echoes of his boss’ approaching footsteps.  Damn, too late.

     “Mornin’, Surcher.”

     “Good morning, Mr. Stridden,” John replied, keeping his eyes focused on the dwindling, yellow stream beneath him.

     “Everything coming out all right?” Stridden asked.

     John thought, schmuck, but said, “Just fine, thanks.”

     John felt his bladder empty, pushed a couple extra times to be sure, then gave himself a few shakes.  Buttoning his pants and buckling his belt, he stepped away from the urinal, allowing it to flush itself.

     “Well, Mr. Stridden” John began, walking toward the row of sinks lining the opposite wall, “I guess I’ll see you at that licensing meeting this afternoon.”  He squirted some soap into his hands and rubbed them together under the automatic faucets.  The water was neither too hot nor too cold.

     “Actually, Surcher, before that meeting this afternoon I’m going to need you to swing by my office.  I have a small task for you.  No big deal.”

     Aw damn, I knew it.  The last time he’d run into Hank Stridden in the bathroom he’d been given a “small task” as well.  In fact, it seemed like the only time he ever got orders directly from Mr. Stridden had been when they met in the bathroom.  “What do you need me to do, Mr. Stridden?” John asked, rubbing his hands together briskly. 

     “We’re redomesticating the company from Illinois to Delaware and the state of Delaware requires that we submit a corporate resolution stating our intent to do so.  I have the resolution in my office.  I need you to get it signed by the Board of Directors.  Like I said, no big deal.” 

John watched Stridden in the mirror as the man zipped himself up, adjusted his stiff, white shirt and walked towards the sinks.  “I don’t know who the Board members are, Mr. Stridden.”  I don’t care who the Board members are, Mr. Stridden.

     “Hell, Surcher, neither do I.  If I did, I’d get the damned thing signed myself.  As it is, I don’t have the time to hunt down the Board and you do.  That makes you my man for this project.  End of story.” 

     John didn’t say anything to his boss.  Instead, he flicked the excess water from his hands into the sink basin.  He walked away from Stridden, who by now was cleaning his own hands, and grabbed a paper towel.  John wiped his hands, threw the damp towel away, and headed out the door. Just before it closed behind him he heard Stridden call, “Surcher, I need that resolution signed ASAP.  We have to fax it to Delaware this afternoon.  Don’t let me catch you with your pants down on this one.  And, Surcher, zip up, will ya?” 

#

     For six years, John Surcher had worked in the State Governmental Affairs Department of One World Consultants, Inc.  It was the longest job he’d held to date.  He didn’t enjoy his job, but tolerated it out of general lack of motivation to find another.  During that time, the company had been domiciled in Illinois and, for reasons he’d never before questioned, not once during those six years had he thought about who was running the company.  He received his paycheck every other Friday, was insured by a health plan in which most of the costs were footed by the company, and was allowed two weeks of paid vacation every year.  Up until this morning, he just hadn’t needed to think much about who pulled the strings around this place. 

     After a short detour for coffee, John stopped by Stridden’s office to pick up the resolution.  The office was empty.  The resolution, however, was attached to the door with a sticky note that read, “Check with Lydia Pheagen in HR.  She should have a list of the current B.O.D.”  John took down the paper and the note.  Maybe Stridden was right and this wasn’t going to be that big of a deal.  He’d just have to talk with this Lydia person, get the list of names from her, and run around the building collecting signatures. 

     John took an elevator to the first floor, stepped off, and followed the signs down the hallway to HR.  An overly chipper receptionist greeted him.  “Good morning!  Are you Mr. Winky, here for the 9:00 interview?” 

     “Nope.  I’m John Surcher, from up on ten, State Governmental Affairs.  I need to see,” he pulled the yellow sticky note from his shirt pocket, “Lydia Pheagen please.” 

     “Oh, sure.  Right this way.”

     She led him through the maze of cubicles that made up One World’s Human Resource department.  This department looks just like mine.  He sighed.

     “Are you O.K.?” the paragon of enthusiasm asked.

     “Sure.  I was just thinking that all the departments in the company look the same.  It’s a bit depressing.”

     The receptionist’s tone turned.  “Tell me about it.  Some days I think about coming in here and dousing the place with napalm just to give it some color.”

     John stopped walking and looked at her.  Little Miss Chipper didn’t seem like the kind of person who would harbor thoughts of mass destruction.  But, John supposed, you never can tell.

     “Oh, I’m kidding.  I work in HR for Pete’s sake.  I love people.”  She grabbed his arm, tugged him forward, and smiled.  John wasn’t sure anymore how much faith he should put in that smile.  “Here’s Lydia’s office.”  She knocked on a door and opened it after hearing a muffled reply from within.  John thanked the receptionist and she again flashed a smile that now made John think she was imagining him on fire.  He walked into the office.

     “Ms. Pheagen?”  John looked around him.  Lydia Pheagen was a brightly clothed, robust woman seated behind a large, L-shaped, wooden desk.  Her office was filled, almost overfilled, with plants.  There were five other women in the office with her.  Don’t any men work in HR?  “Hi.  I’m John Surcher from State Governmental Affairs, on ten.  I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting.  Hank Stridden sent me down here with the hope that you might be able to provide our department with a list of who sits on the Board of Directors for the company.  I need to have the Directors sign this corporate resolution as soon as possible.”  He waved the paper as though it lent weight to support this interruption.

     “No problem.  Ladies, if you’ll excuse me for one second.  This won’t take long.”  She swiveled in her chair to face the computer monitor behind her.  The other ladies in the room began chatting amongst themselves, ignoring John’s presence.  A few keystrokes and several mouse clicks later Lydia said, “Hmmm . . . for some reason the computer isn’t allowing me to access the Director biographies.  Well, Mr. Surcher, I can try again after my meeting here is wrapped up but if you’re in a hurry I suggest you visit Abe Potter in Legal.  Their department keeps paper copies of all the Director biographies.  I’m sorry I couldn’t be more of a help.”

     “That’s all right.  Thanks for trying.”  John turned to leave Lydia’s office.  He looked at the other ladies in the room.  Their conversations ended abruptly and they turned to smile automatically at John.  He returned their smiles.  As he reached for the door handle to close the door behind him, he stopped to stick his head back into Lydia’s office.  “Just out of curiosity, Ms. Pheagen, do you happen to know how many people are on the Board of Directors?”

     Lydia looked up at him with a furrowed brow.  “You know, I think there’s eight or nine of them, but I can’t remember for sure.  There’s at least two or three.  It takes more than one person to run a company this size.  At any rate, Abe will know for sure.”  Lydia turned away and began speaking to one of the other women in her office.  John took the hint and removed himself.  On his way out of HR the receptionist asked him if he got everything he needed.  He nodded and headed back to the elevator.  Stridden was there to greet him as the doors slid open. 

     “Surcher, any luck getting that list from HR?”

     John held up the unsigned paper. “Nope.  Ms. Pheagen’s computer was giving her grief so she sent me to check for names with Abe Potter in Legal.”  I’m going to end up wasting my entire morning on this crap. The elevator began to move, its monotone bell marking every passing floor without variation.

     “Oh good.   That makes sense.  Well, as soon as you’re done get that thing back to me.  We could incur some serious fines if we’re late in getting this to the state.”  Stridden put his hand on Surcher’s shoulder and squeezed it tightly, too tightly.  “I’m serious about this deadline, Surcher.  I will accept no excuse for this not getting done.”  John kept his gaze upon the floor indicator lights above the elevator doors even as Stridden’s fingers dug into his shoulder.  The elevator slowed to a stop and its doors slid open.  “Ask Potter to call me about those privacy issues, will you?”  Stridden released his grip on John and got off the elevator.  As the doors closed John stuck his middle finger up at the crack in the metal where the two doors came together.

#

     John had worked with Abe Potter on occasion and so he easily found his way to Abe’s cube.  Abe was finishing up a phone call when John knocked on the edge of his cubicle.  “Oh, sorry,” John whispered.

     Abe ended his phone call and said, “It’s O.K., was only my wife.  What can I help you with?  No wait, let me guess – privacy, right?”

     “Actually, Stridden does want you to call him about that, but I’m here for something else.  I need to get a list of who sits on the Board of Directors.  The company’s re-,” he began to explain but Abe held up his hand. 

     “List?  There’s only one.”

     “Only one?  Only one Director?  But Lydia Pheagen in HR said she thought there were ten or so.”

     “Well, she’s wrong.  I don’t know how many times we’ve tried to explain this to HR.  There are a million titles that get thrown around in this company, but the by-laws specifically stipulate that the company is only afforded one Director.”

     John paused for a second, then said, “I guess it doesn’t matter all that much to me either way.  I just need to know the person’s name so that I can get their signature on this resolution.  Whether it’s one person or a hundred.”  He made the now familiar presentation of his sheet of paper.

     “We can do that.  I’ll go look in the file room for the information.”  Abe stood up from his chair and added, “While I’m at it, I’m going to make a copy of this biography for those retards in HR with a sticky note attached that says, ‘ONE FUCKING DIRECTOR.’”  Abe took a few steps then stopped suddenly.  “Shit,” he spat.  “The file room is locked.  I won’t be able to get you that biography until later.  I can show you the by-laws if you’d like.  They’re on my desk.  I can show you what they say about there being only one Director.”  Abe looked eager.

     “You gotta be kidding me,” John said with disbelief.  “This is getting ridiculous.  I just need one name, one goddamned name.  I don’t need to see the biography or the stupid by-laws.  Just tell me the Director’s name and what department they work in so I can get their signature.  That’s it, that’s all I need.”

     “Hey man, don’t blame me.  I didn’t lose the keys.  Maintenance is supposed to be here after lunch if you want to come back then.”

     “Awwwwwwww, man,” John groaned.  “I don’t want to come back.  I don’t have time.  Screw Stridden for sending me all over this building looking for something which no one seems to have.”  He shook his head.  “It’s frustrating.  I’m fed up.”  Without another word, John left Abe standing outside his cubicle. 

#

     Outside, taking a long drag on a cigarette, John stared up to the top of the building.  He was extraordinarily frustrated and growing more so the more thought he put into his predicament.  If it’s no big deal, then what am I so worked up about?  He exhaled, inhaled again.  I’ll just tell Stridden that he may not be getting the resolution until later this afternoon, after his deadline.  No big deal, right?  The anxiety of his situation, however, continued to nag at him.  One of John’s co-workers, arriving late to work, walked up the path to the building’s front door.  “John Surcher,” she asked, half-jokingly, “don’t you know that smoking cigarettes will kill you?” 

John replied without thinking or even looking at the woman.  “Jennie Fodder, don’t you know that just breathing kills you?”  The woman said nothing more as she walked past him and into the building.

Halfway through his cigarette, another one of John’s co-workers, a man John had never before seen at the office, came outside through the revolving doors.  “It’s beautiful out here.  A great day for tobacco.”

     “Not for everyone,” John said.

     “What’sa matter, guy?  Cigarette not up to par?  You should switch to Camels.”  The man took out a cigarette, lit it up, and with his eyes closed took a deep, long drag.  “Yummy every time,” he said, exhaling slowly. 

     “It’s not the cigarette.  It’s this place, this job.  This is my life, one small task after another, one cigarette after another.”

     “Maybe you should take a vacation, guy.  Or look for a new job?”

     “I’ve thought about it.”  John took a drag.  “I’m not sure it’s worth the effort.  A vacation just means I have to come back and any job is going to be the same as this one.”  He looked down at the paper in his hand.

     “What’s that?” asked the man. 

     “One small task,” answered John.  “Truthfully, it’s nothing.  I’ve got to find out who the Board of Directors for the company are and have them sign this.  It’s proving to be excruciatingly difficult.”

     The other man giggled.  “I bet.”

     John looked at the man and said, “You have no idea.”

     “Oh, I have some idea.”  The man put his cigarette between his lips, held a hand out to John, and in a somewhat clenched voice introduced himself,  “Mike Tane, Accounting, on eight.  There are no Directors at all for this company.”

     John laughed earnestly.  He took Mike’s hand, still laughing.  “Thanks for the laugh, pal.  Enjoy your tobacco.”  John took a final drag from his cigarette and shoved its remains into the ashtray. 

     “I’m serious.  You’ll be wasting a lot of time trying to get those signatures.  You’d be better off spending that time looking for a new job or, better yet, finding a way to enjoy this one.  You don’t believe me?  Go on up to twelve and look in the Board Room.  It’s empty.  No chairs, no tables, no files, no phones.  Nothing but windows and a pretty view.”

     John laughed again with a bit less heart.  “Why is there a Board Room if there are no Directors?  Why would my boss send me to get signatures of people that don’t exist?” He looked down at the paper in his hand, then back at Mike. What the hell is going on?  John’s anger moved from his stomach to his neck, causing his throat to begin swallowing uncontrollably. 

     “Beats the hell out of me.  Maybe the company had Directors once.  Maybe your boss is as clueless as the majority of the employees here about how this company operates.  But, what concerns your present situation is that the company is now run according to the strictest accounting principles at our disposal.  I tell you what, John.  How about later this afternoon you come up to my department and I give you the lowdown on the rules that govern One World?  It’ll take, oh,” Mike paused to calculate, “a half hour tops.”

     John was unsure of what to make of all this.  He was upset with Mike for adding yet another level of complexity to this supposedly simple task.  John was furious with Stridden, whom he couldn’t help but think knew exactly what he was putting John through.  “No thanks.  I need to talk with Stridden,” John said to Mike, again looking at the blank resolution.  “It was nice meeting you.  Enjoy your day.”

     John began to walk away.  Mike said, “I make of my days what I can.  I suggest you do the same.  Tell Stridden that Accounting needs those privacy affidavits.”  John pushed through the revolving door, frustration and confusion joining the anger filling his body.  He headed to Stridden’s office to figure out why he was being played with.

#

     Stridden’s office was again empty.  John cursed under his breath.  He grabbed a pen and a pad of sticky notes from Stridden’s desk.  Upon the top note and in capital letters he wrote, ‘I CANNOT DO THIS – J. S.,’ then tore the note from the pad and stuck it to the resolution.  He took the resolution and placed it on Stridden’s chair. Walking out of Stridden’s office John realized he’d been fighting a fierce urge to piss. 

     John stood relieving himself with his eyes closed, humming ‘Eleanor Rigby’.  He kept his eyes closed even when he heard the door open and the echo of footsteps getting closer.  John opened his eyes just before he felt someone grab the back of his head.  Stridden yanked John’s head back so that John’s right ear was less than an inch away from Stridden’s mouth.  “You will get me those signatures, Surcher.”  Stridden drove John’s head forward so fast and hard that he almost choked on sharp bits of his two front teeth as they slammed into the urinal’s hard, porcelain lip.  “I asked you to do something relatively simple,” Stridden pulled from his shirt pocket the resolution with the square, yellow note, “and I get a STICKY NOTE!” The paper dropped to the floor as Stridden spun John around and drove his knee into John’s groin.  John fell to the bathroom floor, looking at the words he’d written five minutes earlier: I CANNOT DO THIS.  “A FUCKING STICKY NOTE!” Stridden screamed into John’s dismantled face.

     John spat a mouthful of blood and teeth parts out onto the floor, spraying the resolution in the process.  “Nobody knows,” he choked. 

     “DON”T GIVE ME THAT SHIT, SURCHER!  SOMEBODY KNOWS!”  Stridden grabbed John by the head with one hand and the soiled paper with the other.  He dragged John by his hair across the bathroom floor and out into the hallway.  More subdued now, Stridden spoke.  “Goddamn it, you’re going to get me those signatures.”  Fighting unconsciousness, John hardly felt the bump as Stridden dragged him into the elevator. Where is everyone?  Blackness.  Where is everyone?  From behind a veil of pain he watched as Stridden punched the number ‘12’ on the elevator’s control panel.  John listened to the sound of his own breathing while the elevator carried the pair up to the twelfth floor. 

     The bell dinged before the elevator doors slid open.  Stridden bent down to grab John’s head but John resisted.  “I’ll walk,” John said as blood and saliva dribbled down his bottom lip and onto the elevator floor.  He used the elevator rail to pull himself up.  He exited the elevator while Stridden held the ‘Door Open’ button.  John felt like stir-fried shit.  Stridden followed John out into the hall and the elevator doors closed behind them.

     John took a few steps down the hall then paused.  Stridden shoved him from behind saying, “The Board Room’s at the end of the hall.  You walk or I’ll drag you down there myself.”  John moved ahead and the pair walked single file down the hall until they came to face a large, wooden, double door that would swing inward when opened.  John looked at the door then slowly turned to face Stridden.  He breathed heavily.  “Working for you and this company has been a complacent hell.  I quit.”

     Without giving John time to react, Stridden punched him in the face.  By reflex, John’s hands flew to his face but they did nothing to halt the fresh flow of blood from his nose.  “What makes you think you can quit, Surcher?  What makes you think that any and every job you get isn’t going to be full of small tasks and asshole bosses?  I’m not going to open that door for you, Surcher.  I don’t want to hear, ‘I cannot do this,’ or, ‘I quit.’  You’re going to go in there and get those signatures and I’m not moving until you do. There are no other options.”  Stridden folded his arms and propped himself against one side of the hall.

     John pinched his nostrils together and tilted his head back in an effort to slow the bleeding.  He eyed Stridden diagonally.  Though the vibration hurt his wounded head, he began to hum.  John slowly lowered his head, his reddened eyes still trained upon Stridden.  Stridden didn’t seem to be fazed.  John reached behind him and felt around until his hand gripped one of the door handles.  He turned the handle and the door swung open.  Its wide frame seemed to engulf his body.  Stridden stood up on his tiptoes to look over John’s shoulder and into the room.  The front of his face and shirt covered in blood, John turned around and crossed the threshold to the Board Room.  He looked back over his shoulder to see Stridden still watching, his eyes lifeless in their intent.  John Surcher put one hand out to his side, groping for the open door.  Finding it, he ran his forefinger down along its edge, feeling the smoothness of the once rough wood.  John walked further into the room and closed the door behind him, humming.

 

THE END