Fiction

Slow and Steady
by Charles Richard Laing

I was going over some paperwork at my desk when the door to my immediate superior's office burst open with so much force that it was a wonder it didn't fly off its hinges. Mister Grimes came storming out, and he didn't look the least bit happy. In fact, he looked mad enough to kill. His cold yellow eyes scanned and panned the bullpen until they locked on their target.

Me.

Spotting his prey, his lips curled back from his sharp, sharp teeth. A thin stream of drool started to drip from the corner of his mouth. Throwing back his head, Mister Grimes let loose a blood-curdling howl that caused the rest of my co-workers to flee for their lives. Once the room emptied out, Mister Grimes saw a clear path to he. Only a half-dozen desks separated us, and Mister Grimes bounded over them with ease.

Things didn't look good for me. I knew from the instant I saw him that it had something to do with the Regal Soap account. The Regal Soap people were extremely disappointed with the new campaign I had come up with for their inferior soap, and they had obviously placed a call to the Chairman to express their displeasure. The Chairman would have instantly placed a call to Mister Grimes to express his displeasure, and "following the chain of command" the task would fall to Mister Grimes to see that the Chairman's displeasure was passed on to the drones.

I was Drone Number One.

I was terrified at the sight of my boss bearing down on me, and the feat triggered my self-preservation instinct. I quickly retreated into my shell. Mister Grimes spent the next ten minutes barking at me and chewing me out "both literally and figuratively." I relaxed and took everything he could dish out. My vulnerable soft parts were safely ensconced inside my tough carapace, and words could never hurt me.

After a while he just gave up. Wolfers had short fuses, but even shorter attention spans. Frustrated, Mister Grimes peed on my desk to mark his territory, then whirled around and ran back to his office. I waited a few minutes before cautiously poking my head up. My co-workers started to file back in, and I could see the undisguised looks of envy on their faces. They had all suffered the wraith of Mister Grimes, and had suffered the consequences.

I couldn't help but examine them as they cowered at their desks. They might look more glamorous than me, with their peacock genes, and their ocelot genes, and their rainbow trout genes. I lived with the snickers in the cafeteria, with the pointing and the snide jokes made at my expense. I was well aware of what they thought about the conservative augmentation I lived with.

I could have been just like them. I, however, put a bit more thought into my selection. When it was my turn, I passed on the fashionable choices and picked the turtle genes. The business world was just like nature. Function conquered form.