The office drones
could tell something was wrong. The very air in the two departments was popping
with static electricity. John felt like he was hurrying through the deserted
streets of an old western town in the moments just before the big shoot-out as
he made his way to one of the other cubicles.
“Did you hear?” he asked his fellow-drone Thomas.
Thomas hadn’t heard him coming and looked up with a start.
“Gods, you scared me,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Yes,
I heard. Who do you think they’re going to blame?”
“We’ll be lucky if Mr. B doesn’t blow away the entire
department. I heard they had already emptied the entire warehouse into the
shipping containers and started distribution when the word came about the
mistake. They’re not going to be able to re-call it all; some of it has already
slipped through the cracks.”
Thomas was not a brave man and he shuddered. “Mr. B was so
elated at the late order. And he never gets excited about anything.”
In Miss P’s department the crisis was no less sensational,
but the staff tended to follow the example of their department head and blame
Mr. B. The talk was loud and emotional, rather than hushed and furtive.
“He did it on purpose,
hoping they wouldn’t notice the mistake and he would get all the glory,” Mary M
said to Mary K.
“I believe it,” replied Mary K, “All that snow and wind on
all those poor people who had already packed up their heavy coats. Some of the
farmers had already sheared their sheep. Can you imagine?”
“This has happened before,” chimed in Sarah. “You would
think Mr. B would be more careful.”
“You would think,” said Mary M. “But you know how impetuous
and hasty he is.”
The three ladies all nodded wisely. They knew. Mary M
glanced at the huge, glassed in office at the end of the room.
“I just feel sorry for Miss P,” she said sympathetically,
glad that she was the first to bring it up. “She does so look forward to this time of the year. She already had the
shipping order ready and the first phase almost finished. Now it will all have
to be pushed back for another three weeks!”
“I was on the snowdrop committee,” said Sarah, feeling the
need to squelch Mary M’s self-important manner. “They turned out so beautifully
this year. It’s a shame they had to be caught in all this.”
In her office Miss P sat brooding at her desk when her
secretary’s voice came over the intercom.
“Miss P? Mr. B on the phone for you.”
Still staring straight ahead of her Miss P pressed a button
on the phone and replied, “Put him through.”
She waited for the phone to ring twice before she picked it
up.
“Boreas.”
Her tone was expressionless, belying her anger.
“What in the name of Zeus is wrong with you, woman?” Mr. B’s
voice roared through the phone. Miss P winced and pulled the phone quickly away
from her ear, “Didn’t you get the scheduling memo?”
“I could ask the same of you,” Miss P replied as coldly as
she could. “All the signs were in my favor: the groundhog, the sun, the rain…
Your time was up and you knew it.”
“Meddling woman,” Mr. B ranted, “Not even checking to make
sure it was your turn before sending your little weeds pushing up through the
dirt. The schedule clearly stated that I had one more go before you were let
loose. You couldn’t even let me have that, could you? It’s not enough that the
public adores you; you have to encroach on my duly allotted time as well. Well,
I’ve had enough. I tell you this, Miss Persephone, if I don’t get an apology in
the next week I’ll send Jack to visit every flower you’ve grown this year.”
“Apologize!” Miss P sniffed scornfully, “I should be
demanding an apology from you, and
demand one on behalf of all the people down there who you’ve caught unawares.
They were all ready for Spring when your little flurries escaped the shipping
containers and you had to go blowing freezing cold air through every crack in
every house.”
Mr. B let out a blustery howl and slammed down the phone.
He was rampaging in his office when there came a timid knock
on the door.
“What is it?” he roared, turning fiercely on the
interrupter. His nervous assistant crept in and cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“Spit it out, man!” Mr. B growled. The top three pages from
a stack of paper on the desk fluttered
to the ground seemingly of their own accord.
“Sir, I have this, I found it, I mean, it just got here last
night after you had left, I mean, here.”
He handed Mr. B a sealed note and hurried from the room,
closing the door behind him and getting as far away from the office door as he
could.
Mr. B opened the note, which was dated a week previous, and
read therein:
Boreas,
Your last three weeks have been cancelled. Please make sure
to collect any loose snow and store according to your usual efficient method.
Many thanks for such a fabulous winter.
Sincerely,
Management
