On going against type
"I've made a decision," I say as we take our places around the table in the Conference Room.
My fellow meeting attendees glance at each other with an air of trepidation. My reputation, I fear, has gone before me.
"I fear my reputation has gone before me," I reassure them. I am not sure if this has had any effect. Indeed, one or two are already squirming in their seats. Perhaps the low voltage might have been a mistake.
"Instead of threatening you all with painful death and a lonely grave in the car park as punishment for these long, boring meetings..."
For indeed, the headcount has dropped in recent months in direct proportion to the rise in the number of speed bumps on the road outside.
"... I shall instead be rewarding good performance, concise meeting contributions and short skirts. With cake. And actual money. Actual CASH money."
My biggest, friendliest funnest, so-damn-pleased-to-be-your-boss-and-best-pal-ever smile.
Colleagues huddle together in fear.
"You... you... look just like The Joker."
Too bad. They blew it.