Renegade T.M. (2 page)

As he
got in his car to go to work, he thought about what had just happened, what it might portend to.

“
Probably nothing
,”
he said to himself, as he pulled out of the drive and began thinking about the day's details.

***

Having just smashed a bottle over his
own head, combined with
the loud ringing
sensation
in his ears
,
was doing nothing to lift Pete's mood. He had never been a very successful drunk and would usually only ever drink at Christmas or
occasionally
on his Birthday. The fact that he was currently
“sozzled”
on this run-of-the-mill working Wednesday was because his day had gone rather badly.

“
Dunno why I even bother to get out of bed
,”
h
e mumbled to himself, before adding with added
alcoholism
, "
shhhtupid
world
!”

***

Pete arrived at the large Kiron offices on the outskirts of
Sutton
at ten minutes to eight, ten whole minutes early. He worked in a small part of the building which occupied the space between the recycling department, (a cupboard filled with different coloured bins), and the janitor's office, (a cupboard filled with different sized mops), in a converted cupboard that had a window. He had worked there for a little over two
year
s
now, and his job was to advertise the company.
Kiron LTD was a minor company that sold advertising space on bill boards aro
und the Surrey
region, and consequently, his job was to advertise advertising.
Over the course of the two
year
s
, he had
submitted countless advertising
proposals, from bill posters explaining laboriously that rather than being an advert, it is an advert for an advert, to the more adventurous poster with the less self-explanatory slogan
“
Now Look Here
!”
He had not however, ever heard back from his superiors, and he sometimes worried that he went entirely unappreciated by the company. Parking in his spot, (squeezed inbetween the janitor's and some recycling bins), he thought that he might begin to impress his bosses by arriving early for work that day.

“
Morning
,”
h
e
chir
rup
ed
to the girl at the front desk.

“
Mr Martin
?”
s
he enquired.

“
Er
, yes
.”

“
Mr Draper wants to see you
.”

“
Me, why
?”
h
e asked tentatively.

Mr Draper held a substantially higher position than Pete, and was the kind of stereotypical boss who wore comedy socks indicating which day of the week it was, with a sad/happy face then showing the day'
s proximity to the weekend. He
often wondered how such bland, grey men managed to hold more authority than him, the kind of
be—
suited
spectre who live
s
a home-commute-j
ob existence with the
fervour
of a particularly zealous zealot
. On reflection however, h
e realised that in the grand Kiron scheme of things, it was really only the janitor who held less authority than him, a
nd even then, it was always himself
who went for the coffee, the janitor consistently claiming as he did, that an abundance of paper work
prevented him from going
. Still, perhaps all this was abo
ut to change, perhaps today he
was finally going to be recognised as the talent that he had always thought himself to be.

“
Dunno
,”
replied the receptionist
,
“
all he said was that he wanted to see you first thing, sometime before eight
.”

H
e glanced at his watch, it was five to eight, Mr Draper's office was on the fourth floor and on the other side of the building. After a few seconds mental calculation, he concluded that he was wasting time, so nodding altogether too seriously at the receptionist, he then set off at a just-a-little-quicker-than-walking pace in the direction which he hoped spelt success, that is, he went up the stairs.

He
knocked on the door to Mr Draper's office at ten minutes past. He had decided to take the stairs in a hope to save time, but had then discovered to his dismay, that his just-a-little-quicker-than-walking pace was in no way a rival of the lift, and that his just-a-little-slower-than-running pace was utterly unsustainable up four flights of stairs. Subsequently, he got a stitch and then had to spend ten minutes sitting down. Whilst he was catching his breath, he took the opport
unity to consider what his boss
might want to see him about. To his knowledge, people only went to see him when they were to be given either a promotio
n or the sack, and although he
did not blow his trumpet in any real musical sense, he could not help but think that the hour was his, so having finely tuned himself to optimism, he set off again contemplating the colour of his
new
company car.

“
Come in
!”
h
eralded a voice from inside the office.

Pete went in.

“
Hello,
e
r
..
.”

“
Pete, advertising sir
,”
he
int
er
rupted
.

“
Ah yes, Mr Martin
,”
began Mr Draper
,
“
I've been meaning to hav
e a few words with you, please
have a seat
.”

Mr Draper motioned for Pete to sit down opposite him, and with promotion in mind, he was more than happy to do so.

“
So Mr Martin, how long is it now that you've been working here
?”

“
About two
year
s
sir
.”

“
And how would you rate your performance over this time
?”

“
Ten out of ten
,”
he replied a little
too casually, more concerned as he was with the idea of taking up executive golf, where the nineteenth whole was the
only one that really mattered.

“
Oh really
,”
said Mr Draper somewhat derogatorily.

“
Yeah
,”
he confirmed hesitantly
, suddenly aware that he may
in actuality
be missing something.

“
Mr Martin
,”
Mr Draper began, reaching below his desk and retriev
ing a large A3 picture that he
immediately recognised
,
“
would you kindly enlighten me as to what this is
?
”

It was one of hi
s bill poster proposals, one which contained a doctored photo of Nicole Kidman rather lewdly enjoying a frankfurter. Pete had been feeling somewhat dejected recently, and
one night strolling the web,
had come across the image of Nicole and decided there and then
,
in a rare moment of devil-may-car abandonment
,
to simply download the picture, blow it up some six hundred percent, and then pass it off as the
next instalment of the Kiron Corporation
cutting-edge advertising program. He had been wondering lately, albeit only slightly, if the action would ever result in any conseq
uences, and now that it had, h
e felt strangely relieved.

“
Ah yes
,”
he said
, pausing to consider his blag
,
“
good isn't it
,”
he stated confidently, using a basic hypnotic suggestion technique.

“
No
,”
replied Mr Draper, apparently immune
,
“
what pray tell is good about it
?”

“
Well, we all like Nicole Kidman don't we
?
!
”
he asked
.

“
Yes, so what
?”

“
And we all like frankfurters right
?
!
”

“
Okay, but what's that got to do with anything
?”

“
Well, pictur
e yourself driving along the M25 doing about seventy
miles per hour, a bill poster is just coming into view some five hundred yards away. Firstly, you make out the enticing shape of Nicole Kidman, you like Nicole Kidman and your foot unwittingly eases off the gas. Then you discern a frankfurter, you like those too, and slow to about forty. Finally, you realise what she is doing to it, and all of a sudden, perform a quite un
-
meditated emergency stop. Traffic begins to back up for miles, and why, all because of a simple bill
poster that we, Kiron Corp
, have provided
.”

“
You're mad
,”
stated Mr Draper matter-of-factly.

“
Yes but the margin between insanity and genius is measured only by success
,”
he
countered.

“
And you're fired
,”
he check-mated.

It now became painfully apparent that of the two men in the room, one would go on to explain
(
with quite damning revelation
)
as
to why the only reason that the other
had been employed in the first place, was because of a computer glitch that had confused him as a member of a witness protection scheme, and that now the company had been made aware of the mistake, they would be letting him go and billing him for the two
year
s
wages he had received quite un
reasonably up until then. While Pete sat in silence.

“
So you see, to keep you on would be idiocy, bordering upon lunacy, so it is my duty to say goodbye and get out
,”
finished
Mr Draper, indicating that he should leave
by pointing at the door.

All of this was making him
feel nauseous. Rising unsteadily to leave, he turned towards the man who had just dismantled his very working week existence, and raising a condemning finger, shouted:

“
Least I've got hair
!”

That said, Pete turned and left.

Mr Draper remained in his office somewhat perplexed, and running a hand through his full head of wavy brown hair, he remarked to nobody in particular:

“
What a strange little man
.”

***

“
I'll shhhow 'em
!”
Pete yelled, as he climbed up on to the wall that surrounded the top floor of the car park.

***

Okay, h
e had been fired and this had been a blow, but still, he had a girlfriend who he dearly loved, a nice flat that he rented with her, and a pristine Nissan Micra with only a couple more payments to make on it. He had lost his job sure, but he could always get another one. Pete would get over it.

“
Sarah
!”
h
e called as he opened the front door to his flat.

“
Sarah, I'm home
!”
h
e called again, but there was still no answer.

He concluded that she must be in the bedroom, perhaps s
he had gone back to bed. As h
e made his way upstairs, the thought of seeing Sarah and telling her everything that had happened was all that concerned him, he therefore thought nothing off it when he was forced to step over a large pair of cowboy boots that had been placed at the top of the landing. As he approached the door to their bedroom, it began to open. In a moment, he would abandon himself to Sarah's bosom, he would tell her all about Mr Draper and the humiliating sacking, and she would tell him not to worry for as long as they had each other, everything would always be perfect. Perhaps, she would be wearing a sexy little black number, and as she wiped away his tears, they would find each other's lips, and after a long sensuous kiss, they would then retire to bed together. He felt thoroughly cheered by this thought, and as he basked in the approaching love, a huge bearded man stepped out to meet him.