Parallels

PART 1 

Slinking through the collapsing wooden doorway, I scan the office for any signs of life. Unfortunately, I find my whale of a boss wedged into his office chair, a bottle of Smirnoff in one hand and a TPS report in the other—my TPS report. I had forgotten the mandatory cover sheet.

Struggling out of his chair, Mr. Andrei passes for a few breaths, and then oozes in my direction. Instinctively, I take a step back. Seeing this, Mr. Andrei flies into a rage reminiscent of a drunken polar bear in full seizure, spewing vodka and Russian profanities. A half-empty bottle of Smirnoff zings past my head as I dive behind a nearby chair.

Mr. Andrei, reaching a bloated hand across the desk for another projectile, topples violently back into his chair as his knee blows out like the side of an old used tire. Barking like a walrus, he rips open one of the drawers, revealing an impossible amount of empty vodka bottles. Scooping one up in his meaty paw, he lets fly a second projectile.

Unfortunately for the gorgeous intern passing his door, Andrei’s aim is a keen as his sense of fashion, ruining any chance for her modeling career. I peer over the back of the chair with all the courage of a church mouse.

“So I guess now’s a bad time to ask about that raise?”




Part 2 

Striding through the sleek, modern door, I find my boss surveying the surrounding city through his floor to ceiling glass. Sensing my presence, he swivels to great me. Clean cut, handsome, and tailored, he extends his arm to shake my hand. In his other hand, he holds a TPS report—my TPS report. I had forgotten the mandatory cover sheet.

Gesturing towards his desk, he escorts me to a seat before taking his place in his glorious office chair. He informs me in his thick German accent that, while I did make a mistake on my report, it’s the first I’ve ever made in my four years of working here. He kindly reminds me that a cover sheet is mandatory, but confesses that even he doesn’t understand the point of them.

After that he goes on to talk about how much he enjoys golf and the upcoming tournament he’s going to be participating in. He even invites me to play with him sometime. I confess that I’ve never played golf in my life but he insists. I congratulate him on the dozens of trophies proudly displayed on the wall behind him and let him know that I should probably get back to work.

Impressed by my dedication to the job, he hints that it might be time for a raise. I chuckle and head for the door, but on second thought turn and ask,

“Were you serious about that raise?”