In Which Michael Discovers He's In Way Over His Head
“I am so in way over my head,” Michael Farmer thought. “Bit off more than I can chew. Overfed the gold fish. Overstuffed the…”
“What are you babbling on about then?” asked his Snobby British Male Secretary from right outside his door.
“Um, nothing, I was just thinking about these documents,” Michael replied. Did he really say all that out loud? It was official - his brain was further off the track than he thought it was.
He looked around his depressingly small, windowless office (no window offices until your sixth year – it was like a perk for surviving that long at the firm). His tiny desk was surrounded on three sides by boxes and boxes of documents. His job was to go through them, thousands in all, and catalogue them in a way that made sense. The problem - he had no idea what he was doing. He was a real estate attorney who had volunteered for this corporate assignment because his department was slow enough to make him nervous about meeting his yearly hour requirements (and, more importantly, missing his $50,000 bonus target). He spent twelve hours a day cataloging documents for a fat little man named Wellington Fargo whose nickname, predictably, was Wells.
His phone rang. “Mark, Wellington Fargo here. How goes the cataloging?”
“It’s Michael sir. And I’m having some…”
“Excellent! That’s the type of team spirit we like her at Sullivan Powell. You are a real asset to this firm Mark. The way you left bankruptcy for corporate because we needed a man in a pinch. Way to go! Now when you have some time, come up and I’ll give you some more work. We like to keep the associates busy, busy busy.”
Michael looked depressingly at his huge pile of work. “It’s Michael sir. And I’m actually a real estate attorn...”
“What did you say? Good, good. I must take this other call. Talk to you later.”
“Is everyone here insane?” Michael asked the dead receiver in his hand.
“What was that then?” asked Snobby Male Secretary
***
On his way to Jamie’s office (Jamie being the only other normal human being at Sullivan Powell), he noticed Anderson Dunleavy attempting to make a covert exit from Mary Beiring’s office. He also noticed a very disheveled Mary, tucking in her blouse, with a very evil smile on her face. Anderson refused to make eye contact and slouched down the hallway.
***
“So in conclusion,” Jamie told Michael, “it doesn’t matter that you don’t know what the hell you’re doing with the charting. Old Wells Fargo will never even look at it anyway. You are currently riding the easiest assignment of your life. You can nap in your office ten hours a day and give Welly your grocery list and you’ll get the same ‘great work Mark’ that you’ll get either way.” They both laughed. It was impossible not to.
“I wish I had mentioned this to you a week ago, I’ve literally been going insane.”
“Think nothing of it,” Jamie replied. “One day you can talk me off the ledge and we’ll call it even. Did you hear about Phil Tucker?”
“Tucker. Hmmm, he’s that weird dude who has no friends and keeps to himself right? What about him?”
“They canned his ass.”
“What? Why?”
Jamie shook his head, the expression on his face somewhere between amazement and amusement. “Well, it seems he hadn’t shown up for work for the last five weeks.”
“He never called in? He wasn’t on vacation?”
“Nope. He just wasn’t here. The worst part is, no one even noticed. Seems he suffers from depression and was off his meds because he was finishing a huge deal here and didn’t have time to go home and get ‘em for a few days. Once the deal was done he crashed. The only way the firm even knew he was gone was because his parents called. They also hadn’t heard from him in five weeks.”
“That is truly fucked up,” Michael Farmer declared. The both burst out laughing again. It was laugh or crazy. When the dust settled, he continued. “I hope your boy Dunleavey’s had all his shots.”
“What’s the supposed to mean?”
“I think he just finished added himself to Mary Beiring’s greatest hits.”
If Jamie’s desk hadn’t been in the way, his jaw would have hit the floor.
“What are you babbling on about then?” asked his Snobby British Male Secretary from right outside his door.
“Um, nothing, I was just thinking about these documents,” Michael replied. Did he really say all that out loud? It was official - his brain was further off the track than he thought it was.
He looked around his depressingly small, windowless office (no window offices until your sixth year – it was like a perk for surviving that long at the firm). His tiny desk was surrounded on three sides by boxes and boxes of documents. His job was to go through them, thousands in all, and catalogue them in a way that made sense. The problem - he had no idea what he was doing. He was a real estate attorney who had volunteered for this corporate assignment because his department was slow enough to make him nervous about meeting his yearly hour requirements (and, more importantly, missing his $50,000 bonus target). He spent twelve hours a day cataloging documents for a fat little man named Wellington Fargo whose nickname, predictably, was Wells.
His phone rang. “Mark, Wellington Fargo here. How goes the cataloging?”
“It’s Michael sir. And I’m having some…”
“Excellent! That’s the type of team spirit we like her at Sullivan Powell. You are a real asset to this firm Mark. The way you left bankruptcy for corporate because we needed a man in a pinch. Way to go! Now when you have some time, come up and I’ll give you some more work. We like to keep the associates busy, busy busy.”
Michael looked depressingly at his huge pile of work. “It’s Michael sir. And I’m actually a real estate attorn...”
“What did you say? Good, good. I must take this other call. Talk to you later.”
“Is everyone here insane?” Michael asked the dead receiver in his hand.
“What was that then?” asked Snobby Male Secretary
***
On his way to Jamie’s office (Jamie being the only other normal human being at Sullivan Powell), he noticed Anderson Dunleavy attempting to make a covert exit from Mary Beiring’s office. He also noticed a very disheveled Mary, tucking in her blouse, with a very evil smile on her face. Anderson refused to make eye contact and slouched down the hallway.
***
“So in conclusion,” Jamie told Michael, “it doesn’t matter that you don’t know what the hell you’re doing with the charting. Old Wells Fargo will never even look at it anyway. You are currently riding the easiest assignment of your life. You can nap in your office ten hours a day and give Welly your grocery list and you’ll get the same ‘great work Mark’ that you’ll get either way.” They both laughed. It was impossible not to.
“I wish I had mentioned this to you a week ago, I’ve literally been going insane.”
“Think nothing of it,” Jamie replied. “One day you can talk me off the ledge and we’ll call it even. Did you hear about Phil Tucker?”
“Tucker. Hmmm, he’s that weird dude who has no friends and keeps to himself right? What about him?”
“They canned his ass.”
“What? Why?”
Jamie shook his head, the expression on his face somewhere between amazement and amusement. “Well, it seems he hadn’t shown up for work for the last five weeks.”
“He never called in? He wasn’t on vacation?”
“Nope. He just wasn’t here. The worst part is, no one even noticed. Seems he suffers from depression and was off his meds because he was finishing a huge deal here and didn’t have time to go home and get ‘em for a few days. Once the deal was done he crashed. The only way the firm even knew he was gone was because his parents called. They also hadn’t heard from him in five weeks.”
“That is truly fucked up,” Michael Farmer declared. The both burst out laughing again. It was laugh or crazy. When the dust settled, he continued. “I hope your boy Dunleavey’s had all his shots.”
“What’s the supposed to mean?”
“I think he just finished added himself to Mary Beiring’s greatest hits.”
If Jamie’s desk hadn’t been in the way, his jaw would have hit the floor.
posted by Anonymous at 8:24 PM
8 Comments:
"It was laugh or crazy."
Great job!!
again... very entertaining :)
Sorry it took me so long...the other sara(h)s beat me. This was excellent. You guys are so awesome!
Have I mentioned how much I love the Sara(h)s fan club?
are we the only ones that comment here?! ;)
we're your groupies! :P
The sara(h) fan club loves you too I'm sure...lol
Wow Sarah. I guess we really have become the groupies.
I refuse to be called a groupie.
Even if my name IS sara.
We're waiting...
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