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| Sunday, 26 June 2005 |
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| News Business Features Editorial
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Telling Tales Office Roulette by Discopants There are six sales executives seated around a table in the conference room, all waiting for the regional head to arrive and pass on his personal gratitude. These six were all given large bonuses for the sales they've generated over the last year.
Tim: he's a well-meaning bloke but if he ever set out on a mass murdering spree his tactic would be to try to bore people to death. A ten second message can turn into a two hour epic, normally centred around the bridge match he had the night before. It doesn't even matter if you don't like the game, or if, like me, you don't even have a clue what it's all about. Jane: again, there's not an ill-bearing bone in her body but she's just obsessed with cats. She's got five of them, all of them named after Greek goddesses; I can handle that but I begin to worry when she rings home so that she can leave messages for them. She has birthday parties for them and I swear that the story about her trying to smuggle one onto the plane to accompany her on holiday to Spain is true. (I circulated this story myself with no evidence to back it up but I've just got a feeling that it must have happened at some time.) Tony: as charming as they come most of the time but his whole manner changes when something goes wrong. And it doesn't have to be something important that goes wrong. It could just be that there's no soap left in the dispenser in the toilets and he'll be off on one. He was a security guard working night shifts in his last job; they used to have a draw each night to allow two out of the four to get a couple of hours' sleep. Tony lost one night and accused the bloke of fixing the draw; he decked him and got sacked. It could only be this company that would take him on. David: the first thing he'll tell you when you meet him is that he's Welsh. I've got a few Welsh friends and I'm all for maintaining your identity but he takes it way too far. I'll give you an example- his daughter had been going out with this guy for years and marriage was on the cards. One night, the boyfriend turns up at David's house and asks for permission to ask for David's daughter's hand in marriage. David tells him to come back when he can recite three Dylan Thomas poems then he'll consider it. Norman: he really is a thoroughly unpleasant individual. He's definitely sexist and probably racist and that's enough to make me despise him. Even if you got past that, you'd have to put up with his constant complaining that he's under pressure and never has time to do anything. He'll have a heart attack one day...well, here's hoping. Richard: this man is the stuff of legends. He's so much full of himself that's it's unbelievable. He has to have the latest BMW with all the latest trimmings and is always dressed in an Italian suit with the label on the sleeve so that you know how much it cost. I could tell you a hundred stories about him; one of my favourites, though, is the time when he was shopping in a DIY store. He was wearing a jumper that was the same colour as those worn by the store's assistants. An old lady approached Richard and, having mistaken him for an assistant, asked him where she could find the wallpaper section. His reply was typical Richard: "My dear lady, this sweater is cashmere." I don't think it's a coincidence that five of the six are men- certainly not from the point of view that they were the ones chosen to receive bonuses and probably not from the point of view that I think they deserve to suffer. The regional manager has arrived and is ushered towards the conference room. I announce that I'm off for a cigarette break (not strictly permitted but nobody's dared to stop me so far) and then disappear from the office. I descend the flight of stairs and exit the building. I go to my car and remove a gun from the glove compartment. I leave the car park and head back to the office. I smile to myself at the thought that the company's senior management had been talking for months about installing metal detectors at the entrance but had been haggling over the cost- typical that saving a few pennies was more important than the safety of their staff. I stride into the conference room, bringing an address from the regional manager to a premature close. "What's going on?" he asks. "I just though I'd pop my head in to see if I could get the recognition and respect I deserve." "This is hardly the time for that..." "Au contraire," I reply, adding "Bet none of you knew I spoke French," producing my gun at the same time. If only I had a video camera to record the look of absolute terror on their faces. "So this is what's going to happen. One of you is going to get shot dead today." For once, none of these people who usually had so much to say could muster a word between them. "Now, remember your numbers, everyone- Tim, you're one, Jane two, Tony three, David four, Norman five, Richard six. This is the fun bit coming up now." I walk over to the regional manager and handed him a die. "Roll the die. The number you roll dictates who dies. If you refuse to roll it, then you'll be the one to die." "This is ridiculous," he objects, although not very authoritatively. I raise the gun to the level of his head and press the barrel against his ear. He takes the die in his hand. "Hold on a minute," I instruct him. "We need to get the right level of tension going." I simulate a drum roll on the table with my free hand and survey everyone briefly. "And the person who's going to be shot dead tonight is..." The regional manager throws the die right on cue. "A four," I announce. "Who was that- David, I think." I walk over to him, wondering whether I should do an ominous dance of death as I do so; I decide that that would be a touch over the top and so decide against it. "I'm not worth it," David tells me. By now, he's sweating so much that I wonder for a moment if he's going to keel over anyway. "I know that," I tell him. I point the gun at him and smile. "David, this was your life." Jane begins to scream; Richard joins in almost immediately. I pull the trigger. Everyone is silent. I slide the gun onto the table. "It's an imitation. "Panic over." With that, I leave the room, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins, and I wonder how I might replicate this feeling. |
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| News | Business | Features
| Editorial | Security
| Politics | Produced by Lake House |
I'm not the bitter type but this lot are the most undeserving bunch
I've ever come across and, anyway, I happen to know that my sales figures
were higher than three of the group, maybe higher than all of them. The
difference is that I don't sit there reading the company newsletter and
laughing pathetically at the Managing Director's jokes. So who are the
Sales Executive Six? 
