Wednesday morning, 9:16 AM. When I enter the office, Wren pops up from behind her desk.
"Hi, Phil. Can I get you something to drink? A coffee? water?"
"No, thanks, I'm good."
She motions for me to follow. It's a good thing I know my way, I can't keep up with her.
I find her waiting for me in the conference room where Carl is seated. He comes around the table, his hand extended. Cheerfully, he slaps my shoulder as we shake hands.
"Can I get you a refill, Carl?" Wren asks.
He shoves his oversized coffee mug into her hands then turns to me.
"You're looking well, Phil. Dropped a few pounds, I see."
Dropped a few pounds since he saw me a couple of days ago? Hmmmm.
My eyes go from Carl's friendly, smiling face to a ghoul of a man, seated at the far end of the table. His creased face looks as though it would crack if his thin lips ever formed a smile. On his forehead, I notice two protrusions, like horns trying to push through his thin flesh.
Carl makes the introduction. "Phil, this is Douglas Glerk. From the firm."
I smile. "Nice to meet you."
No response. He narrows his eyes at me as I approach offering my hand. He remains seated, his bony hands folded on the table.
"Recovering from the flu," he grumbles.
I notice that the whites of Glerk's eyes are not white, but blood red. I wince.
"Just had Lasik about an hour ago." He blinks briskly.
I smile politely. Carl gestures to an empty chair across the table. As I slide into my seat, I realize that I am the subject of the good cop/bad cop routine.
Wren slips in, deposits a fresh mug of coffee in front of Carl, then darts away. Carl busies himself at his laptop.
Glerk thumbs through a stack of papers, squinting at the documents. In a guttural voice that calls to mind demonic possession, he growls, "Seems to me, Mr. Robiski, that the intelligent thing would have been to consult legal counsel before trying to organize a class-action suit against Trollamex."
"Class action suit?"
"Even a law school flunky would surely have advised you that you cannot sue for damages allegedly caused by some fictitious product."
He flips a page and, with the yellow fingernail of his index finger, underlines the name, Tiger's Teeth.
"I believe you referred to it as Tiger's Teeth."
"Right. That's the name of the product."
"What product?"
I turn to Carl who is immersed in his computer, then back to Glerk.
"Tiger's Teeth is the weed killer that Trollamex produced and marketed. You know that."
"I find no record that a product by that name ever existed."
Clearly, Carl does not have my back. He's intent on diverting his eyes and slurping his coffee.
"Hot," he says under his breath.
"Listen, Mr. Glerk. I've got twenty-eight people willing to testify that they have actually used Tiger's Teeth."
"With a little legwork, I'm sure I could find twenty-eight people who claim that they've lived on Mars."
YOU ARE READING
Vital Signs
HumorPhil's wife, Megan, and his daughter, Jilly-bean, are the reasons he gets up bright and early every morning, puts on a suit and tie, and sits in rush hour traffic on his way to a job that has become unbearable. For years, the only way he's managed t...
