I work for a company which I will call X. It is a good company (a great company) that is seeing some rough times. I have been through 4 rounds of redundancies, and am headed for a fifth. The last round was bad-56% of my department (and some people very dear to me) went. This time, rumors put cuts in my department at anywhere from 25 - 90%. Am I worried? You betcha'. Losing my job means a whole lot of turbulence opening up in this poor little white girl's life.

So I have thought of how to go about cuts this time. Last time it was about length of service and skill sets. This round, rumors have it will be on job competence and key positions. But what if we styled cuts in the "Robinson" way, like that strange reality TV show where everyone is on an island and can vote people off?

I already have this figured out in my head. I would have to be very cunning-I do have enemies here (and that is not me being paranoid. I have at least 3 people that can't stand me. Which is ideal, since I can't stand them. Their reasons for hating me are a little fucked up and of the personal nature, but I guess I can understand-if I weren't me, I would probably hate me, too.)

We are our own desert island, my company X. We are trapped together in the 8 floor building, and in the evenings we build a big bonfire in the reception, using old PowerPoint Slides to fuel the flames. We use the display from our mobile phones to light the way through the hallways at night as we scavenge through people's desk drawers for old Snickers bars.

A new round of voting is up. I am called to a challenge. I must present our company's long-term strategy to a bunch of engineers. I am matched against one of my mortal enemies (whom we shall call Annika, but that is not the fiend's real name). Annika and I must battle neck and neck. The ratings that the engineers give us will determine if we are awarded the Golden Badge. The Golden Badge will be worn around our necks and will save us from being voted out. It also opens the doors to the ladies shower, which we need since the soot from the burning PowerPoint slides has made us all pretty funky.

Annika presents first. She is smooth, agile, and has slide after slide of graphs. Real data smatters throughout her slides. The engineers sit back, impressed. They like pretty pictures. They need these numbers to survive, to rattle around in their head and make the synapses work. Their balls itch from the endless information that the attacks them with. She does not stumble, nor make any grammatical errors. I know that this is fierce, fierce competition, but I am ready.

I go up. My slides are simple, basic information. I think Death by Slide Animation is not a good move, a more sophisticated track is needed here. I am subtle, but crack technical jokes that get a nice titter from the audience from time to time. Annika is on the side, sucking on a pig leg. She is leering, looking victorious, pig grease on her upper lip. But this is not over yet. I dexteriously move through my slides, and as I near the end, I unleash my Secret Weapon. I drop the pointer that I had been massaging in my hands, using on various slides. I bend over.....sloooooooowly....to pick it up, ensuring that I bend from the waist down. I feel my skirt ride up, and then...It happens. I feel the edge of my short skirt glide gently up, revealing a tiny lace suspender holding on to the tops of my thigh-high lace topped pantyhose. They are treated to a full length of very long leg (finishing in the perfect stiletto heels, of course). I hear the men in the audience suck in their breath, and indeed the movement sways the air. I stand up, sloooooowly, and turn around, smiling a bit, allowing the skirt to catch on the clasp of my garter. Yes, Boys. I am that type. I do wear garter belts and thigh high stockings. And I know it is sexy.

The men look shell-shocked. Annika looks furious. I continue my presentation, nearly sure I have it in the bag. But I need to do something to drive it home, to go over the edge. At the end of my presentation, I ask for any questions. As hands go up in the air, I realize that if my audience must be recovering from the flash of lace I sent them if they are stable enough to finish fullthought patterns. So I shrug off my jacket, revealing a tight tank beneath. And as I take off my coat, the tank rises...just a bit...and the men see a flash of silver. My navel ring.

The hands drop. I take the final move-I yawn and stretch, massaging my stomach quickly with one hand, then finish and coyly jut one hip out. I hear someone whimper in the audience. The men look stunned, and I see more than one have to adjust their notebooks on their laps. One man is groaning loudly in the back row. Annika is busy trying to keep her head from rotating 360 degrees in her fury.

The men give me ten out of ten. I am awarded the Golden Badge, and that bitch Annika is voted out of the building. She must extinguish her laptop and go.

Victory or death.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 12:54 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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