Lick Your Neighbor (9 page)

PS – No. You’re not.

____________________

Shortly after reading that last message, Ted’s new secretary, Cheryl, appeared in Dale’s cubicle to escort him to Ted’s office.

Ted was lightly banging his head on the desk as Dale entered.

“You wanted to see me?” Dale asked.

Ted turned his weary eyes on Dale and waved a copy of
Hustler
in his direction. “Have you seen this?”.

“Is it this month’s issue? No I haven’t. Can I borrow it when you’re done? I’m feeling kind of tense and could use a good—”

“No, no, no. You don’t understand. There are former Ferdue employees posing in here.”

“Really? Wow. Anyone we know?”

“Yeah, Tricia.”

“Your secretary?”

“Former secretary, yes.”

“Is she naked?” Dale asked.

“Yes.”

“
Naked
naked?”

“With the exception of a Pilgrim’s hat, yes.”

Dale lunged to grab the magazine. Ted slapped his hands away before he could snatch it.

“This meeting isn’t about my nude ex-secretary licking barbecue sauce off a drumstick. Although, I suppose in a way it is. It’s about this company’s image, Dale. It’s about you.”

“I promise to never lick a drumstick for money, especially while buck naked. There. Are we done here?”

“No. I just got off the phone with the Board of Directors. They’re concerned about your work as of late. And frankly, Dale, so am I. Lately it has been, how can I put this…shoddy.”

“Shoddy? You never complained about my work before. Why just last week you patted me on the back no less than six times and said ‘Top notch work, Dale. Grade-A, first rate, world class, five stars, USDA Prime.’”

“I don’t remember saying that,” Ted said, “In fact, I’ve never said anything remotely like that in my entire life.”

“You say it almost every day.”

“Do you have proof of me saying that?”

“Proof? No. You always just say it.”

“I find that hard to believe, Dale. Show me a paper trail and I
might
believe it. But otherwise, you’re lying.”

“What?”

Ted pressed the intercom button on his phone.

“Cheryl, could you type up a memo to Dale Alden letting him know that his work as of late has been shoddy and that Ferdue doesn’t tolerate lying.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Yacker.”

“What’s going on here?”

“I could ask you the same question, Dale. In fact, I am asking you the same question. What’s going on here?”

“You’re suddenly saying my work is shoddy.”

“Exactly. At least your listening skills haven’t become substandard. But how long before they go too, Dale? How long before you completely mentally check out from your responsibilities? How long before you start, I don’t know…pissing on the office plants instead of watering them?”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Dale? Why did you piss on the office plants? Was it to save time? Didn’t feel like filling up the water pitcher, eh? So you just unzipped and let it flow. Disgusting. Cheryl!”

“Yes, Mr. Yacker?”

“Type up another memo to Dale Alden informing him that urinating on the office plants to save time is totally unacceptable.”

“Will do.”

“I didn’t piss on the plants! Where is this coming from? My work habits haven’t changed one bit. Wait, is this about Gus?”

Ted blinked. “Gus who?”

“Gobbling Gus.”

“Never heard of him.”

“There’s a picture on the wall of you holding him.”

Ted spun his chair around and looked at the nicely framed photo of him at the Thanksgiving Day parade four years ago. Ted was wearing a Pilgrim hat and did indeed have Gus in his arms. The photo was even autographed, which for Gus meant that it had an ink turkey footprint on it.

Ted closed his eyes and sighed.

“I mean come on, Ted. Gus was practically your best friend.”

“What did you just say? He was my what friend?”

“Best.”

“Best.” Ted’s eyes lit up. “Bingo.”

Ted spun back around.

“Something disturbing has just been brought to my attention,” he said. “You don’t end your emails with ‘Best.’”

“Best what?”

“Just ‘Best.’ You know full well that we have two company email policies here at Ferdue. One is that all personal correspondences and cordialities take place in the postscripts of work related emails. Second is that all employee emails must end with ‘Best.’ It’s in the employee handbook, Dale. The handbook
you
signed.”

“Well…fine. So maybe I don’t end my emails with ‘Best.’ But what does that mean anyway? Best what? Best wishes? All the best? I’m the best? You’re the best? This email is the best. It doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re on thin ice, Mister. Just because your father-in-law Silas is, or was, a big wig at the company doesn’t mean you can do whatever the hell you want. Why, Hank Ferdue himself put that provision in the handbook. More than anything else on this good green Earth, Hank loved to end his conversations with a kind, heartfelt ‘Best.’”

Ted got up and walked over to the massive portrait of Hank Ferdue hanging on his office wall. It was the kind of portrait a member of the royal family would commission.

Ted looked up at Hank Ferdue’s shiny bald head and droopy eyes and made the sign of the cross. “Are you calling Mr. Ferdue, God rest his gorgeous soul, a fucking retard?”

“I never said that!”

“You implied it. And what about Hank’s father, William Ferdue?” Ted moved over to the portrait next to Hank’s. “With his regal mustache and fiery eyes. Is he a fucking retard too? And William’s father?” Ted moved on to the third and final portrait on his wall. “The Great John Ferdue, Dale. Founder of the company? Or fucking retard?”

“All I said was…” Dale trailed off as he stared curiously at the portrait of John Ferdue. He had seen it many times before in Ted’s office, but today it looked different to him.

“Dale? Something wrong? Your eye is kind of twitching a bit there.”

“John Ferdue is dead, right?” Dale asked.

“What the hell kind of question is that? He founded the company in 1903. Yes, he’s dead. Been so since 1949.”

Dale went over to the painting to get a closer look. “Are you sure? He looks exactly like this guy who was in my bedroom this morning.”

“What guy?”

“A farmer. I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy.”

“I’ve been to John Ferdue’s grave, Dale. I’ve felt the cold earth over his coffin, laid flowers on his tombstone, and traced my fingers over the inscription ‘Life is for the birds.’ The man is dead.”

Dale looked at the painting again. “It’s definitely him. He threatened to unleash some hellhounds on me.”

“Great, Dale. That’s just great. So according to you, not only was John Ferdue a retard, he’s also some sort of zombie farmer. Well I’ve heard enough of your vicious slander on the good name of Ferdue.” Ted opened his office door and pointed out. “I want you to go back to your desk, and think about what you’ve done. Think about the people you’ve let down. Your co-workers. Your family. Your country. Your God. Do you even have a God, Dale? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Just get out of my sight. Hopefully some space and time will help us both heal.”

When Dale got back to his cubicle there were two brief memos on his desk.

Your work is shoddy and your constant lying is not in line with Ferdue company policy. This is your final warning on this matter.

Pissing on the office plants to save time, while not explicitly against company policy per se, is unacceptable. And disgusting. Stop it.

Dale also had a new email.

____________________

From: Ted Yacker

To: Dale Alden

Subject: FREE CANDY, PIE AND HUGS!!!

Dale,

Just kidding about the free candy, pie, and hugs. Just wanted you to read this message ASAP.

Anywho, you’re fired.

Best,

Ted

PS - Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours

____________________

From: Dale Alden

To: Ted Yacker

Subject: Re: FREE CANDY, PIE AND HUGS!!!

Ted,

Come again?

Best,

Dale

PS - Ditto

____________________

From: Ted Yacker

To: Dale Alden

Subject: Re: Re: FREE CANDY, PIE AND HUGS!!!

Dale,

See Julie in HR for explanation.

Best,

Ted

PS - Thank you. Give my regards to your wife and son.

____________________

From: Dale Alden

To: Ted Yacker

Subject: Re: Re: Re: FREE CANDY, PIE AND HUGS!!!

Ted,

I’d rather speak with you if that’s all right. How bout I swing by in 10?

BEST,

Dale

PS - Will do.

____________________

From: Julie Smith

To: Dale Alden

Subject: Urgent

Dale,

See me immediately.

Best,

Julie

____________________

From: Dale Alden

To: Julie Smith

Subject: Re: Urgent

Julie,

I’m kind of busy. How about first thing after lunch?

Besties,

Dale

PS - Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

____________________

From: Julie Smith

To: Dale Alden

Subject: Re: Re: Urgent