Executive Heaven and the Tale of Longgone John Silver
It's common knowledge that the executive floor (17) has a hot tub. It is widely and credibly rumoured that 17 has a bar, tennis courts and a flamenco dancer. Reports of pet tigers and yeti are in dispute.
We lackeys and mere mortals are not allowed on 17. It is, after all, the executive floor. Tales have been told of low level employees finding their way in, never to be seen again. Some cosmodemonic employees scare their children with the tale of the most famous of these, Longgone John Silver.
Longgone John Silver was a likeable larrikin, loved by most of the call centre on floor 7 for his easy-going nature and quiet dry wit. There was a sense of essential niceness in him, people said, that oozed out of his pores sweet as bourbon sweat. He was a fine looking young man, with a mop of curly yellow hair and a warm tan and a warmer smile, looked the quintessential country boy minus perhaps the dungarees and straw in the mouth. Half the girls in the call centre had fallen in love with Longgone John, and the other half had terrible taste in men.
But Longgone John had an adventourous spirit, and one day he (fatefully) decided to follow an executive who got out of the lift on 17. He stayed at the back of the lift as it went past 7, and flew on up to 17. The executive, of course, did not look around or sense the presence of another human in the elevator. He was an executive, and there was no memo advising him that he had company, so he did not have company.
There is security camera footage showing Longgone John exiting the elevator, sneaking after the anonymous (they all look the same, you see) executive. We can watch in the corner of the screen as the executive scans his special pass at the security door, and walks straight in. The door nearly closes, a hand stops it with an inch to spare, pushes it open just far enough, and a mop of yellow hair disappears through.
That is the last recorded visual of Longgone John Silver. Some say he was fed piece by piece to the tiger. Others that he was fed into the chipper and used as fertilizer for the cocaine garden. No one really knows for sure.
It is said that late at night, you can sometimes hear his ghost, howling in the elevator shafts. Others say that's just the wind you crazy bastard.
I want to get in to the executive floor. I want to solve this mystery. I also want to cavort in the jacuzzi with the supermodels and the pampering and the non-stop misuse of the company profits. I will find a way. I will not bow in my quest. You lousy executives do not scare me. Much.
We lackeys and mere mortals are not allowed on 17. It is, after all, the executive floor. Tales have been told of low level employees finding their way in, never to be seen again. Some cosmodemonic employees scare their children with the tale of the most famous of these, Longgone John Silver.
Longgone John Silver was a likeable larrikin, loved by most of the call centre on floor 7 for his easy-going nature and quiet dry wit. There was a sense of essential niceness in him, people said, that oozed out of his pores sweet as bourbon sweat. He was a fine looking young man, with a mop of curly yellow hair and a warm tan and a warmer smile, looked the quintessential country boy minus perhaps the dungarees and straw in the mouth. Half the girls in the call centre had fallen in love with Longgone John, and the other half had terrible taste in men.
But Longgone John had an adventourous spirit, and one day he (fatefully) decided to follow an executive who got out of the lift on 17. He stayed at the back of the lift as it went past 7, and flew on up to 17. The executive, of course, did not look around or sense the presence of another human in the elevator. He was an executive, and there was no memo advising him that he had company, so he did not have company.
There is security camera footage showing Longgone John exiting the elevator, sneaking after the anonymous (they all look the same, you see) executive. We can watch in the corner of the screen as the executive scans his special pass at the security door, and walks straight in. The door nearly closes, a hand stops it with an inch to spare, pushes it open just far enough, and a mop of yellow hair disappears through.
That is the last recorded visual of Longgone John Silver. Some say he was fed piece by piece to the tiger. Others that he was fed into the chipper and used as fertilizer for the cocaine garden. No one really knows for sure.
It is said that late at night, you can sometimes hear his ghost, howling in the elevator shafts. Others say that's just the wind you crazy bastard.
I want to get in to the executive floor. I want to solve this mystery. I also want to cavort in the jacuzzi with the supermodels and the pampering and the non-stop misuse of the company profits. I will find a way. I will not bow in my quest. You lousy executives do not scare me. Much.
posted by Lackey | 4:30 pm
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