. . . cue the seething hatred . . ."God . . . now I'm not going to get anything done!" she half-whispers from behind as she rushes passed my door.
I roll my eyes emphatically and nod, frantically pulling up the spreadsheet I was working on before I got sidelined. I hear the front door open and freeze. It is definitely him.
". . . Well, hey buddy . . . " he is practically yelling into his cell phone. I'm across the office and down the hall and I can hear him very clearly.
". . . fuck 'em! Am I right?" He bursts into a fake, too-loud laugh that booms throughout the room.
I push back from my desk and roll my chair towards the door frame so I can sneak a glance back. He is turning into his office with his cellphone still glued to his ear so I can relax a little. I have a few minutes before he starts gunning for people. Still I can hear his entire conversation.
". . . That's what I told the guy!" he is almost shouting, "I said, 'If I could grill them myself I would! But then what would be the point of this rocket ship?!" I close my eyes and breathe out through my nose.
Marco is the vice president, sub-owner I mentioned before. He does about as much work as Megan but makes three times as much money. He spends the majority of his days in this office leaned back in his leather chair, feet propped up on his expansive desk, cell phone at his ear, yelling bull shit to whoever will hear him. It is my belief that he is now functionally retarded but too integrated into our systems to be cut loose.
My main problem with this character is that he has made a hobby out of stirring up problems in the office by instituting random, unnecessary "work flows" that require everyone to do his job for him while he sits back and watches from his desk. We'll get to this later.
Remember how Crystal's footsteps were overbearing, loud and rapid? Marco is the opposite. His are silent - like a predator stalking prey. The man could walk behind you for a full twenty minutes before you'd notice. He is like an evil, evil ninja.
Like this but more menacing. And covered in Tommy Bahama."Hey Princess . . ." he starts, smirking at me, "I saw you put this on my desk. The thing is . . . well . . . I am not very familiar with this project. And I really didn't know what to do with it. . ."
In an effort to end what promises to be a very long conversation, I interrupt him. "I just need you to sign it. It's an expense report for the Oakland Heights project. The PM over at the project site requested . . ."
He starts talking over me as if I never spoke. ". . .and without instructions I cannot be expected to understand this, can I?" He fake smiles at me, his overly-tanned face crinkling around his mouth. "Anyway, as you can see I am very, very busy. Too busy, in fact, to know about every paper that crosses my desk. You see, I am wrapped up in about 100 projects at any moment while you . . . " he flits his hand around dismissively, ". . . office gals only have a couple things on your plate at any one time. So I understand that you can't possibly grasp how busy I am. But, ya know, in the future if you would explain the documents that cross my desk I'd appreciate it." He smiles again and it fades quickly to a grimace as he backs towards the door. "Ok . . . that all sounds good!" He shouts as he turns the corner out of my office, down the hallway.
I honestly cannot tell you what change he wants me to make. This is one of his many dark gifts. He can have entire conversations whereby he never has an actual point, idea or thesis. Mostly its just loud buzz words strung together between inappropriate laughter and leering glances.
"Market Dynamics . . . Revenue Streams . . . Profit Sharing Ahahahahaha!!!!"I can hear him storming someone else's office in search of twisted retribution. As I stare out my window I feel ease knowing I was first on the list so that the rest of the afternoon can be spent attempting to tune him out.
