“We’re reinstituting wars,” Linda told Mack. “One by Friday, please. Let me know if you need any help. You’re critical to our new training plan’s feedback.”
He stared at his new boss’ retreating back with horror. Mack felt his face pale as much as his olive skin would allow. Fighting hadn’t been in the job description. He’d left the military because he was done with war. And how was he supposed to spark one off in less than five days? He barely knew where the restroom was.
Swiveling in his black roller chair, he hissed at the next cubicle. “Hey! I thought this was a logistics company! Shipping?”
Jerry had a handset pressed between ear and red plaid shoulder. He gave Mack an odd look before returning to his call.
Mack got up and took his new company mug to the coffee machine over in the corner. He’d made sure to remember that location. He studied the logo while he waited for the machine to brew his cup, an unassuming navy blue on white. Whittier Transportation Firm.
“Whiskey tango foxtrot,” he whispered, and shook his head with a groan. “I should have known. What was I thinking?”
Back at his desk, he sipped the hot, bitter brew and raised a surprised eyebrow. Well! At least the coffee was better in the private sector! No muddy water reminiscent of turpentine here.
The caffeine soaked into his brain cells. Ideas began sparking as neurons connected, sharp pops of yellow light. Mack shook his head at the weirdness of his new job, picked up his phone, and started making calls.
By Friday morning, he was back in camouflage he’d left behind, helmet firmly on. He was the first in the office, as usual, but today was different. Mack barked orders at the delivery men, and slipped them extra cash to fortify the cubicles with the crates.
A crash sounded behind him, metal on the tile entryway. Linda stared at Mack, open-mouthed. A sealed coffee travel mug rolled in loops, heading away from the glass door in the least efficient route possible.
“Ah, thank you for the reminder, Linda.” Mack gestured at the nearest delivery man, a skinny guy in overalls and a well-worn lifting belt. “Hey, can you make sure to get some of these crates by the door? That glass is ridiculously vulnerable.”
Linda swallowed and held up a hand as the delivery guy headed toward the door. He detoured around her, an empty crate in each hand, while she emulated a fish.
Words finally erupted from her mouth. “Mack! What…why?” She spun in a circle and bent to retrieve her coffee container, unscrewing the lid and chugging liquid gold. “What?”
Mack held up his clipboard. “Linda, I’m really sorry. We won’t be ready to go by the time we’re scheduled to open. The sandbag delivery won’t get here until 1000. I know logistics win wars, but the company swears there’s nothing they can do. We have boxes of printer paper that could fill the gap in the meantime, but only one pallet. That’s just not enough.”
Linda looked at her coffee sadly, as if wishing it were whiskey. Shedrank for at least five seconds, held the empty mug over her mouth to shake out the last few drops, and screwed the lid back on. “What. Is. Happening?” Her voice screeched to a deafening levels.
Mack winced. “You said you wanted a war by Friday. But like I said, we’re just not ready. I started the propaganda campaigns, but the formal declaration of war to the competitors can’t go out until we properly fortify this building. And we’re vulnerable to the water and power getting cut off, but the generator’s getting installed in the basement now. Fuel might be an issue – ”
He cut off as Linda held up a hand. “War? Generator?”
“You said the company was reinstituting wars. You wanted one by Friday. It’s Friday. And I’m sorry, but we really need to hold until Monday if we can.”
Linda spun in a circle again, her hand held over her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
“I went with paintball, though. Hope that’s all right.” Mack tried to sound as earnest as possible. He had struggled with that dilemma before making the decision, but if this place meant a real shooting war, he needed to be looking for a new job. He might anyway. This place was weird. “Obviously, I wanted to do well on this as my first assignment. You said you needed feedback for the training program. Remember?”
“Mack,” Linda said slowly. “Mack, a WAR is a weekly activity report…”
***
No inspiration yet for this week’s actual prompt from Leigh Kimmel about tweaking alien noses. In the meantime, I couldn’t resist this spare. Maybe now that it’s out of my head, I can get back to the real prompt of the week. My own submission about swimming trees went to Becky Jones.
