Diary of a Small Fish by Pete Morin

Author:Pete Morin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-09-15T07:00:00+00:00

In the morning of a perfect early summer golf day, I spent a few hours in the office finishing up some business before beginning a vacation weekend I had scheduled months ago. I hadn’t taken a day off in four months, and I was a wreck. I planned to leave the office at noon to catch a tee time with three fraternity brothers at Woods Hole Golf Club, a crafty little design by Stiles and Van Cleek.

My job came with eight weeks of paid vacation, but my first assistant begged me not to take it all. “Please. Don’t leave for more than a few days. Think of the mischief your absence will invite,” he said. He’s a former Marine. When a former Marine begs, you have to take heed.

At 11:15 that morning, GM’s office sent word that my presence was required at an emergency meeting at two that afternoon. Some sort of crisis involving a bus manufacturing contract. I called the head of bus operations, Mort Stuckey, who was pretty much shitting his pants worrying about what this meeting could be about.

“What’s the problem, Mort? Why’s this meeting necessary?”

“I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about,” he said. “The contract’s going fine.”

I summoned the two deputies in charge of labor and contracts, Jimmy Fantozzi and Vinnie Mattarazzo. “Mr. Fantoztic” and “Vinnie the Guinea,” I called them. I instructed them to attend the two o’clock meeting, and they looked at me like I was sending them to their own execution.

“You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s the problem?”

Vinnie said, “We both got called by the GM’s office and were told we’re not invited.”

They looked at each other and back at me.

It took me two seconds to get the picture, and I laughed out loud.

“What’s going on?” Jimmy asked.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on. Cruddy and Fetore are up to their tricks again. I’m telling you to go to that meeting. If they don’t want you to attend, that’s up to them.”

The two of them turned white. I almost passed them my puke bucket.

“Look guys, you got nothing to worry about. This meeting is bullshit. It’s manufactured to fuck up my long weekend. If they ask you what the hell you’re doing there, throw me under the bus and tell them that I don’t know shit about bus contracts.” And I kicked them out.

At twelve o’clock sharp, I left my office and took the elevator down to the lobby. As the doors opened, there was Lou Fetore, standing like a menacing guardian.

“Hiya, Lou,” I said. “You’re waiting for me, aren’t you,” I asked, wagging my finger at him.

Fetore did his swaggering thing, complete with the tight-lipped grin.

“Hello For-tay,” he said. “We’ll be seeing you at the two o’clock meeting?”

“No, you won’t, Lou,” I said, stopping right in front of him, face on.

“This is a crisis management meeting,” he said, “This matter requires your immediate and full attention. The Chairman has made it clear that your attendance is mandatory.”

I looked down at the brick floor and shuffled my foot, and looked back up at him, smiling.

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