Headquarters
Dave felt a pang of anxiety as he
drove down the interstate toward F.R. Rogers corporate headquarters. He had been dreading this meeting since he
had heard the previous Monday that a grease fire had burned down the kitchen
and part of the back. He had also heard that Frank was there and may have been
responsible. At first he had hoped that
they had some footage from the camera only to find out the camera’s hadn’t been
working for weeks, and anyway they didn’t even have one on the line. The fire had also done damage to the roof,
and they were waiting to hear if the insurance would cover it. He was hoping deeply that they would just cut
their losses, shut it down. Of all the
13 retail locations in his district that Diner was the one that gave him the
most problems. It was the one they were always talking about. The way he saw it they could still make money
from gas station and the diesel pumps, more in fact.
Large letters F.R. Rogers loomed on
the side of the building greeting Dave as he made his way to the exit. A few people in the company would resist,
most likely. The old man would be the problem. He had bought that diner over 40
years before, had a sentimental attachment to it. It had been quite a boon to
the company in the early years, before there were many other late night
options. Dave could see in a way, the nostalgic
appeal but the way he saw it sentimentality and nostalgia were not sound
business principles. The place was dysfunctional, Dave could see that from the
moment he took over as district manager.
He pulled off the exit toward the road that led to headquarters.
Frank had his issues, Dave knew,
but the one thing that could be said about the man was that he was predictable.
Every day, for the entire time he was manager, he had never been so much as a
minute late, or had called out sick. Now he had disappeared. No one could find
him. They had called his family, friends, no one had heard from him. They found
his SUV parked near a greyhound bus terminal, and that was the last trace of
him. They said around 300 dollars was missing from the safe, not that it
mattered, they had no cameras. Dave
pulled into his space near the entrance. The perks of being district manager,
he thought, amused. He had spoken to John and Coleen an urged them to not
mention Frank’s presence or any mention of foul play. It might jeopardize their chances of getting
any return from the insurance company.
Dave took a sip of his coffee as he
got out of his car. He could feel them kicking in, Xanax, he usually took a
least two just to make the meeting more bearable. He could listen to them drone on about
profits and losses without wanting to strangle himself. This is probably it, he thought as he walked
into the building. They’re going to call it quit’s, this albatross over me will
finally be over. It seemed the most
likely outcome given the circumstances.
The bigwig’s had been talking about it for years, shutting the place down and now they finally had an
excuse. It was like an old shitty car
that broke down and the repairs cost more than the car itself was worth. Better
to disregard it, rather then put in all the work.
Dave got into the elevator and
pushed the door to the tenth floor. He
knew exactly what he was going to say and how to say it. The Xanax combined
with the coffee had given him the proper inspiration. He watched the elevator slowly ascend to the floor. God, or whatever, make this go the way I want
it, he prayed to himself silently. He got out of the elevator and made his way
into the conference room. They were all
sitting around the table talking, Dave wasn’t listening to the particulars, but
he thought he got the gist of it. Steve Roger’s the old man Charlie’s son was
talking. ‘So Dave what do you think?’ He asked? Dave was taken aback slightly,
he had just arrived. ‘I think we should cut our losses, shut it down, keeps the
pumps going.’ He looked around in sudden horror at the look of disgust on his
colleagues faces. ‘We were talking about
how were going to find a new manager for the diner.’ Steve said eyeing Dave harshly.
‘You’re not shutting down my Dad’s diner. I know some of you thought that was
the plan but you were wrong. Only the
kitchen was damaged in the fire, the dining room is still intact, we just got
word from our insurance they’re going to reimburse us. We are going to rebuild
it.’
‘Of course.’ Dave managed, feeling
awkward. It was the last thing he expected to hear. ‘I need to use the
bathroom.’ He said and slowly made his way out of the room. He felt the bottle
of Xanax in his pocket as he walked over to the bathroom. Dave walked into the stall and took a couple
pill out of the bottle, chewing them. The taste was terrible but it hit you
quicker, the old man. He’s responsible. Well, he reasoned it would probably be
a month or two before it was up and running again, maybe I’ll find a new job by
then.
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