Promotional Material

Promotional Material

       By Leigh Douglas Starbucks

              canals are funny things
                  the way locals are proud of them

                  and show them off

                  to visitors     as if they would unhide the fox

                  and rig elections if the cause were

                  stark enough and clear

                  not like the water that flows through both

                  water for brains    water for woman   water for

                  tracks of ditch big with
                  passing ships carrying maybe even

                  someone with child

                  or someone returned
                  from a fine

                  a private place

                  and tickling feathers

Weland Spread could have told you the time of day to the minute when his boss knocked at his cubicle and asked to speak to him about his retirement. The thought had never seriously crossed his mind that his age might suggest to anyone the possibility that he move over for someone else.

       “Might I give you my answer next week?” was all he could think to say. Barry Barnacle looked at Weland as if he had not heard correctly. After a pause and some indications of false indifference he spoke again.

       “I do not require an answer,” he started. “Though I speak to you in these friendly terms, I intend for you to act rather than respond with thoughts.” He peered around the small office and took in, as if for the first time, the clutter there. The books on the shelves lay at odd angles to one another. A half-dozen cardboard boxes did for filing cabinets. These stood where they had stood for years balanced on narrow shelves. A pair of worn sneakers and another of vinyl loafers lay visible under the old desk. The janitor had merely swept around them for some time. A coat hanger on the floor near the hat stand, bits of paper on the tiled floor, and other debris, stood out to both men as they pondered.

       “Naomi Swiner who replaces you next week will not require this space,” Barnacle said. “She will operate out of the office next to mine. That gives you a week to remove your belongings while she establishes hers.” Weland could not think well. All these years he had hoped for a promotion to an office with a window. The row of offices with windows were meant for senior employees. He felt disinclined to leave this new information from Barnacle unaddressed.

       “But, I always wanted that office,” he said. He waited, thinking of the promotion he would never get now. His tie bothered him and he adjusted it. He tightened it till his neck bulged over his collar. He pulled up his trousers so that his bare legs, hairless and white, showed above his socks. Barnacle looked at him in disbelief.

       “You always wanted that office?” he said. “You were waiting to be allowed to move up to that office?” He stood to go. He wore cologne. There was no smell of sweat about him. His dark suit, neat and pressed, his crisp shirt and tie, his very bearing, spoke of authority. Before he could open the door, however, Weland spoke again.

       “I always wanted that office myself,” he said, glancing about him. He did not rise from his chair. “Why?” He waited for his boss to speak. “Why do you do this to me?” He began to get to his feet and then did so. He approached Barnacle and stopped close to him.

       “Would you like a drink?” he said, reaching into the desk drawer. The door began to open but Weland put a hand on it and closed it. Barnacle tried to force it open but could not make it move. Weland had a strong arm.

       “You will need more than a fine suit to beat me at the opening of doors,” Weland said, smiling. “Here, have a drink. It’s pretty good whiskey. I often have a drink here when things get boring. Go ahead, have one now, too.” He handed the bottle toward his boss who drew back from it. Weland put his left arm around Barnacle’s shoulders.

       “Good man,” he said. “There, there, now,” he added. Drink. Here, share.” Weland raised his arm to his boss’s neck and squeezed him so his head jerked up. His color began to change. Weland pushed the neck of the whiskey bottle towards his mouth which clamped shut in response. Not for long. The bottle jabbed between his lips with so much force that two teeth chipped. A piece of enamel stuck to his lip. His mouth opened in surprise. The bottle got inside and Weland lifted it and the whiskey poured in. Barnacle choked and coughed. The bottle kept pouring. Barnacle swallowed finally and then kept swallowing until he had consumed a great deal.

       “Now, isn’t that better,” Weland said, sitting the boss down in chair he had vacated. The boss began to rise but Weland reached the bottle toward him. Barnacle shook his head but when Weland made as if to take him by the neck once more he nodded. He drank a little sip. Weland shook his head.

“Take a good one,” Weland said. “Make it worth your while.” The boss took a little more. When Weland smacked him on top of his head he drank a large amount. Soon, Weland did not have to suggest that he drink. Barnacle sat there with the bottle in his hands and took sips now and then.

“Help me put these books in boxes,” Weland said.  Barnacle did not understand at first. When Weland lifted him bodily out of his chair and faced him toward the books and pointed at an empty cardboard box, he began to stack books into it. “Move them into the office next to yours,” Weland said. The boss began to lift the box but its weight prevented him. Weland picked it up with ease and placed it in Barnacle’s arms. Barnacle wheeled out of the door with Weland following. Barnacle made as if to set the box on the floor of the new office but Weland pointed to the shelves and Barnacle began to put the books onto them.

“You can have another drink each time you finish moving a box in here,” Weland said. He stayed on Barnacle’s heels. Barnacle thought that if his secretary had not booked off he could have shouted and have her call the police. But no one seemed to be around and Barnacle kept moving boxes until all the books lay, in some disorder, on the shelves. By this time Weland had encouraged him to drink all of the whiskey and Barnacle felt faint and exceedingly dizzy.

“I’ll be back next week to start my new promotion,” Weland said and left the building. He did not appear on Monday, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday. On Thursday he stood suddenly at Barnacle’s open door and smiled at him.

       “Goodbye,” he said. “It’s been a long time coming.” He left and never returned.