A new type of spoon

“That’s not a spoon,” protested Johnson.

“No it’s not, it’s a spork,” admitted Ellison, “Part of the new product range.”

“A spork! What is that, a spoon / stork crossbreed?”

There was a pause during which we all imagined the mating process required to bring about such an item of cutlery/birdlife.

“No of course not,” said Ellison. “It’s a cross between a spoon and a fork. It has the ladle function of a spoon with a miniature prong at the end.”

There was a gasp of horror from the rest of those present.

“That’s a monstrosity,” said Huntingdon. “Surely the bible forbids such cutlery.”

“We’ve checked the bible,” said Ellison, “It makes no mention of sporks. The spoon isn’t even listed as sacred.”

“Blasphemy” cried Huntingdon. There was a murmur of agreement.

“Even if the spork isn’t expressly forbidden by the bible,” said Johnson, “And believe me, my boys will be checking that, we’re a spoon-makers, not a spork-makers. We simply don’t have the skills required to manufacture sporks.”

“We are,” Ellison emphasised, “a struggling spoon manufacturer, whose sales have been in long-term decline. We’ve already had to close the east wing of the factory, at the loss of hundreds of jobs.

Sporks are the future, a new market, perfect for curries and stews, and contrary to what you say, the mechanics of spork production are almost identical to those required for spoons. It will take a simple alteration to the machines in the west wing, it will take less than a day to set up the new production line.”

“You want to dedicate the whole of the west wing to producing these monstrosities?” said Johnson, to general approval. “We’ll we won’t have it. We’re going on strike.”

“Strike? But there hasn’t been a single strike I the entire history of Grayson’s Spoons.”

“Well there’s going to be one now. All in favour.” There was an overwhelming show of hands.

“Carried unanimously. We’re not going to make a single spoon until management agree to cancel this insane spork idea.”

“So be it. We’ll see who breaks first Johnson.”

At first the spoon strike was greeted with amusement by the media and the public, but after a few weeks without any new spoons being manufactured, the impact began to be felt. Newlyweds found themselves without no means of enjoying soup, new businesses opened without a single spoon in their staff kitchens, resulting in thousands of man-hours lost as staff struggled pathetically to retrieve tea-bags with forks and even knives.

Restaurants soon began to run out of spoons. Within weeks, soup was off the menu and people were asked to eat their desert with a fork, even if they were eating custard.

Questions were asked in parliament. “Would the minister tell me how he expects me to eat my crème brule with a fork?”

The minister had no answer. Seemingly every seat in the House was occupied by parliamentarians waving spoon-dependant comestibles.

High-level meetings were held. The army, it transpired, was finding it difficult to feed the army. Without spoons, service staff had no way to enjoy their, well whatever the slop was they were supposed to be enjoying.

Things were even worse in the prison service. “Don’t tell us to fork our porridge,” prisoners protested. There were riots, occupations and thousands of tons of unconsumed porridge.

With both politicians and public against them, Grayson’s Spoons had no choice but to back down. Plans for the expansion into sporks were abandoned.

“Welcome back to work Johnson, no hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings Ellison – we won.”

“I’d like to take the workforce for a drink, on the company, to celebrate the return to production, and to discuss a new proposal for the west wing.”

“What is it?” Johnson asked, but the will of the majority decided to reconvene in the pub, before continuing the discussion.

“Well?” Johnson said, eventually,when all of the pints had been purchased and distributed.

“It’s this,” Ellison said, holding out a peculiar piece of cutlery. It’s a new type of spoon. We’re calling it a spife – it’s got 100% spoon functionality, but with a cutting edge.”

There was a silence in the room as Johnson contemplated the new product. You could cut the tension with a knife, or, apparently, a spife.

“And of course,” Ellison added, “There’ll be a 25% production bonus for all spife staff.”

“For all staff,” said Johnson, “We don’t want different rates of pay for different types of cutlery, you’ll end up with workers knifing each other in the back.”

“Or spifing each other,” said Ellison, laughing at his own joke. Nobody else laughed. The room was tense. The whole future of the factory, not to mention the bonus pay, was balanced on a knife edge.

“Okay, it’s agreed,” Ellison said eventually, “25% for all staff, as long as the spife is in production. You won’t regret this Johnson. Spifes are the future, not just the future of this factory, but of this great spoon-loving nation.”

Johnson raised his glass. “To the spife,” he said, “A new type of spoon.”