Mar 14
“I think we can all agree that this will be the most secure course of action.”
Everyone at the boardroom table agreed with Sir Nigel. Not because of his astute business acumen (of which he had none), or his sound judgement (which was severely lacking), but because their jobs depended on sucking up to the Chairman for Life.
Sir Nigel had inherited the company from his father, also Sir Nigel. Most of those sitting at the table had been hired by Sir Senior. All of those at the table were petrified even the slightest off-kilter remark or disagreement would end up in the loss of a range of perks, bonuses, and honorariums. This included the keys to the roof garden, or “Cigar Wandering Place” as Sir Nigel (jnr) called it.
“Yes” they all said in unison.
There was an audible mumble as those present, even though they had affirmed the action, played out the ramifications of their decision. In a few short weeks, the company would begin investing in Trump Crypto Moonboots - a joint venture between President Trump, Elon Musk, and some random guy Trump had met at a wine and cheese event in Napa. Trump was notorious for being tee-total, but he made up for it by consuming vast amounts of Napa Cheddar, which, it turned out, was exactly the same as orange as his bronzer. That may have been what initially attracted him to the fromage.
Sir Nigel (jnr) spoke for several minutes about the future lying in moonboots, if there was such a thing. Most at the table looked on, but some were already trawling the classified to see if there were better, less yessy positions at other companies. Sir Nigel finished with a flourish by waving his hands and pumping the air with a fist. This was an effective display of manhood from an American business guru, but for Sir Nigel, it just looked like he was trying to punch his way out of a wet paper bag. He left the room with a triumphantly ineffective gait.
“Thank Christ that’s over,” said one of the suits as they got up to leave. Another suit pulled a hip flask from inside his suit jacket and drained it. A different suit reached out, indicating he would like a swig. The half drunk suit just tipped the hip flask upside down to let them know there was absolutely no more alcohol available. This gesture was met with extreme disappointment and a single tear.
Just as everyone was preparing to leave the room, Sir Nigel (Jnr) burst through the massive doors and laughed his annoying laugh.
“Hahaha,” he yelled, “Got you! Got you all!!”
Everyone stared.
“There we go!” he continued, “the greatest ever April Fool’s Day gag in history. I got you and I got you good! Why the hell would I go into business with those two morons!”
Sir Nigel spun on his heals and sauntered out of the room trying to look like a proud lion traipsing majestically across the plains of Africa, but looking more like a weedy pig with a rear knee injury.
The look of disgust on the faces of yet another of Sir Nigel’s ill-timed and poorly received “gags.” Not only that, it was only March the 14th.