"Come in," bellowed the large voice of the manager, as he pushed himself back into the leather chair that sat behind the mahogany, antique desk.
The office was a shrine to the eighties, it was a shoulder pad made of wood and soft furnishings. Everything on display was there to reinforce the power that the incumbent had over other people's lives. There was a bar along one side stocked with just whisky, a valuable work of art by Rothko hung on the adjacent edifice, and a collection of mounted squirrels finished off the surroundings, squirrels that had been killed by the hands of the powerful man that was sat behind his desk right now.
A blotting pad and an executive metal ball game were the only residents on the wide expanse of leather that was neatly inlaid within the mahogany.
The manager had developed a habit of turning to look out of the window, at the ancient tree outside, when waiting for anybody to walk into his office. This time was no different, and as Mike walked in gingerly, he was unsure whether to sit or stand in the absence of any universal indicator from his host.
He decided to sit down in the chair nearest the desk.
"Sit down," said the manager as he turned from the window, "oh, you have, I see. Well then?"
"You wanted to see me, Sir," replied Mike in a quieter voice than normal.
"Hmmm."
There was a pause while the manager reminded himself of the purpose for this minion infesting his office.
"Yes, yes, yes, I remember now," started the manager with a moment of clarity. "I want to talk with you regarding this bloody business of the project and what it means for you, and your sad little life."
"Thank you, Sir, it would be good to know, Sir," replied Mike now taking on a more Bob Cratchett quality.
"The bloody thing looks as though it'll be canned. I can't say that I agree with that but there you have it. I personally don't see anything wrong with the lack of any real benefit to the customers, we had a similar situation with that bloody thing in Africa, and after twenty years I've heard that they've finally found a use for that bridge.
"It's cost $6m and taken twice as long as originally estimated but what do they want, I believe that we're now making real progress in understanding the purpose of this project. So, anyway, I have to tell you now about the implications that this will hold for you."
Mike sat glued to the chair, waiting in anticipation at the words that were to come from upon a high.
"If it does get binned, and of course there is no guarantee yet, but if it does then you will be displaced and having said that, I would then look to progress your situation as quickly as possible so that you can gain some early assurance of your future. Although the leadership has now changed I hope that they will stick to the game rules that we had before christmas, and this is what I will check for you. But do not go planning anything yet, there is no guarantee that the decision will be to scrap it, that will come in a couple of weeks as the big manager is currently yachting in Spain and after that he is golfing in The Conga. When he can spare ten minutes of his life to thinking about the future of this project, and the seventy people that it affects, he will set to it, and once he sets to it he will get right to the nub of it."
"I hear, Sir, that the indicators are pointing towards the ultimate retreat from this initiative," suggested Mike.
"I wouldn't believe what you hear, young Holley," said the manager stretching back in his chair, and straightening his spine, "My job is to tell you what to hear, and anything else that you hear is not worth hearing. If I had my way people would leave their ears in my top drawer, and I would then return them when I want them to hear. So, remember, no hearing until it is something I want you to hear. You hear?"
"I think so, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I will wait to hear from you about the decision, Sir. When do you think I will hear?"
"You will probably hear some time the week after next, but if you don't hear then don't be despondent, you will hear after that point. One way or another you will bloody hear about this thing when you need to hear. Now, please leave, as I have an important thing to see about."
"Thank you, Sir," said Mike as he rose in his chair and made his way towards the door.
"When you are in my position, young Holley, you will have to see to things. The eyes that you think you have are just eyes to hold the place around the eye area until you get real eyes that will make you see stuff that you haven't seen before. The eye of a potato is the gateway to the sole of a shoe, and remember to see to that. I'll see you soon, young Holley, in a small way I like you."
"Thank you, Sir," replied Mike as he left.
The manager turned to look back out of the window, and decide how he was going to spend the rest of his day. He stood up, and reached for his jacket. He was going to adjourn to the club, where he would discuss the fall of the Yen and the rise of the Tibetan Baht, and plan his pretend fortunes with his one friend, Martin.
(All of this discussion has been based on anecdotal evidence of a situation which partly happened, and was partly invented by an over active imagination that compensates for a dull reality in which normal conversations happen every day. I thank you.)
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