Dead Wood

Boomy, with me.

El-Jefe beckoned me like an evil hatstand and started walking toward one of the nearby meeting pods.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't in the mood for this today. I had millions to do and the idea of comforting an oversized, insecure pillowcase full of lard about their place in the world was not high on my list of priorities.

Oh well.

I gritted my teeth the way Stormy Daniels would when deciding to go for "dinner" in a hotel room with the sex Yeti that was the then President of the United States and stood up to follow the giant Sea-Cow that was my boss.

Sit, sit.

Upon entering the meeting pod and closing the door, the Heffalump waved me to a chair.

Sup honky?

I tried to keep things on the down low despite El-Jefe's jittery nervousness.

This isn't a formal meeting.

He fixed me with his best serious gaze, his eyes wobbling slightly like two marbles in a panacotta.

Erm, ok...

I gave him a hint of stink eye so that he knew there was zero chance of me dropping some loose change on the floor and then sucking him off by accident when I went down to find it.

It's just me and you, mano-el-mano so to speak.

El-Jefe snorted through his nose like a prize bull spying a red velvet cake.

What are you on about shoobshoob?

I drew him a hard look. Something seemed off and I didn't like it one tiny bit.

El-Jefe twitched nervously, scanning the room as if expecting ninjas to leap in and start throwing shuriken everywhere.

There is a lot of noise. Lot of talk. Lot of... people saying things... rumours.

He put a finger to his lips and got up to check the door was fully closed before waddling back to his seat.

Look, you know the talk about budgets lately. There is no money. No money anywhere. There is talk of cuts coming. Big cuts... Deeeeeeeep deeeeeep cuts.

He over-emphasised the eep'ing like a reversing garbage truck.

What's new, this place is always flapping about no money.

I shook my head at his foolish worrying.

No no. This is worse. There is no budget. They are going to get rid of the dead wood.

He screeched, his expression taking on a desperate air.

A hint of a smile danced on my face, the dead wood eh?

I looked at El-Jefe pityingly.

Then I noticed that he was looking at me pityingly.

Hey, what the fuck? Why are you looking at me like that?

I stopped leaning back in my chair which till that moment had been the greatest joy of the day and furrowed my brow accusingly at El-Jefe.

He looked back at me and tilted his head slightly to the side in that I'm sorry to tell you that your partner died policeman kind of way.

Wait, are you fucking serious? Are you feeling sorry for me because you think I might be the "dead wood" at risk?!

I barked at the Heffermich as if I was a camp warden suspecting there was contraband in the barracks.

El-Jefe looked pitying and smug at the same time which made him resemble an unearthed potato lying in the Autumn rain.

Well, you know...

He sighed ruefully as if losing his wingman might be the hardest thing he had ever had to bear.

Are you mental? I do all your work and you just swan about all day trying to chat up the Romanian cleaner woman. I have got news for you mate, she isn't shagging you. No matter how many times you tell her you drive a fucking Passat.

I waved a hand around the ninja-less meeting pod.

Further to that esteemed boss man, there might be dead wood in this room but it ain't me.

I stood up and headed toward the door.

Huh? What? You mean me? Me? Me... oh god, what me? Seriously?

All colour drained from El-Jefe's face and he reeled back in his chair wobbling with new found horror.

I turned and winked before leaving the room.

Enjoy your day big guy.