The Pefect Worker

The Perfect Worker
A short story
By
Ian Rome

Pete couldn't believe his eyes. This can't be true," he said quietly to
himself. Once again he scanned through the company memo that he had
just received. "I've been here ten years, they need me!"

Yes, Pete had been with the company for 10 years but it would appear by
the contents of this new memo that he was not as indispensable as he
thought.

Dear Mr. JACKSON,
Due to urgent restructuring I have to inform you that the position that
you currently hold will no longer exist within this company. To this
end, regretfully, with effect from 25th April, your services will no
longer be required.
Due to the loyal service that you have provided us during your 10 years
here you are guaranteed a reference of the highest standard.
Danny Burghfield
Director of Personnel.

Pete was distraught. He thought about going straight to the top, to the
MD, but what was the point as they had obviously made their minds up.
"What about my loans, my credit cards, the mortgage, this is awful. Why
me?" He could picture his new Mercedes sports car being towed away by
the finance company.

He was a popular person among his peers, OK he liked a bit of a joke
and in the past had pulled a few stunts but there was no way that he
could ever have seen this happening to him. He remembered the time that
he had but black ink on the rims of his colleagues' mugs. After they
had finished their coffee they all had a rather black grin, or the time
he had put the same ink on his mates' glasses. When he went to meet the
MD it looked like he had two black eyes, the MD didn't say a word but
just kept staring at him. What a laugh he had had when he'd filled a
few of his friends' coat pockets with shredded paper, apparently it
went all over the carpet when they got home, and of course, that piece
of concrete that Joe had carried around in his briefcase for two weeks,
absolutely hilarious.

He could remember all the favors that he'd done for his boss, the time
he had taken a whole days leave to take him to the airport, the lunches
he had gone and bought with his own money, the time he had looked after
his dog for two weeks while he was away on holiday. What would he tell
his girlfriend?

Well he certainly wasn't going to leave like a mouse. As finance
officer he could do an awful lot of damage to the firms' infrastructure
just by pressing the delete button on his PC-all the accounts for the
last 12 months gone-that'll teach them. What next: oh yes, a few
letters to certain senior staff members wives just to let them know
what really goes on at those corporate dinners.

At 12 O'clock he left the office feeling some satisfaction but still
depressed. The drive home was completed in a blur of confused thoughts
and visions of the impending disaster that was about to befall his once
perfect lifestyle. Once in the apartment he extracted a bottle of the
best malt from the drinks cabinet and poured a strong one. This was
soon followed by another and then another. He got more
depressed as he drank. He could see no way out of this mess. Of course
there was always one way. Could he do it? Another whisky and his
thoughts got darker until in his own mind there was no other
option.
Pete went to the bathroom and took out all the pills that he could find
and returned to his bottle in the lounge. Slowly and deliberately he
started taking the drugs washing them down with copious amounts of
whisky, then he settled back in a drunken haze to eventually fall into
a happy oblivion.

In the Dog and Whistle in town the four young men sitting in the corner
of the lounge bar were really enjoying themselves.
"I hope Pete didn't take that memo to much to heart," one said.
"Do you think one of us should call him and put him out of his misery,"
said another.
"No let him stew for a bit, after all I'm sure he can take a joke and
he certainly likes to make one. He would have realized that it is the
first of April!

END