CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw

CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw by Draven Madpen Read Free Book Online

Book: CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw by Draven Madpen Read Free Book Online
Authors: Draven Madpen
even thinking, I wave to her. She’s revolted and shocked, but
still returns a very peculiar motion. A real slow lift of the hand without any
wrist movement whatsoever. Just a steady ascension to about shoulder level
aimed in my direction wearing a most puzzled expression upon her face.
    Natasha slinks over to the
nametag table. It’s at this point that I see Wilmer Cromwell enter with Percy
at his side. Their contrasting appearances are comical. Together they form the
letter ten. One being slender and the other being a round fatso. I watch Wilmer
with eager excitement as he eyes the tags. His smiling face contorts into a
disfigured, disbelieving frown. I guess he’s noticed the writing. You see,
Wilmer is an extremely prideful fellow and does anything he can to avoid public
disputes. It’s because of this reason that I know he won’t confront me. At
least not now. Like an angry parent eyeballing their child, just waiting to get
home so they may unleash a violent beating. One which would be publically
frowned upon.
    Forever the politician, Wilmer
devises a plan.
    “Everyone, excuse me,
everyone! I see the nametags have become a bit…disorganized.” Yeah, that’s it
Cromwell. Disorganized. What a twit. He continues on, “We’ll skip over them
this time around. Please take a seat and we’ll get underway.”
    People begin looking for a
place to sit. I can tell by the awkward way in which they move that no one has
any idea what they’re doing here. And then… quite unexpectedly another buffoon
makes his unwanted appearance.
    Todd Storton walks into the
room wearing his work uniform. He’s carrying several magazines. All eyes turn
to view his unsightly, ungainly, and unwelcome lumbering body. Everyone in the
place is a bit baffled. Storton isn’t employed by anyone in the building. He’s
contracted out through the water jug company. A quiet murmur ripples out from
the crowd. Mouths turn to ears, fingers point secretively toward the tubgut.
Nobody knows it, but I’m the one who invited Storton. Just to get a reaction –
to embarrass the goon.
    With all gazes fixated on the
jug man, he steps farther inside equipped with the kind of self-assuredness
only a true imbecile could possess in such a situation. Storton scans the room.
The people glance down at the numerous magazines in his hand. Another murmur
begins, this one a bit louder than the previous. More finger pointing and
cupped ear whispering. For it is upon closer inspection one can see that these
fine articles of literature are, in fact, smut mags (which I asked him to
bring). And I must say, I awarded him more credit than he deserves. I figured
he might’ve stayed and contributed to this pointless meeting. At least offer to
pass around the delightful magazines to lighten up the mood. Although it was
clear to see by the darting of his eyes, and fumbling of his gut, along with a
heavier perspiration than usual that the big man had evidently been hit by a
case of the nerves. Public humiliation had gotten the best of him. I felt
shamed by his display of cowardice. Probably too many well-tailored suits in
one room for the behemoth.
    “Uhh, pardon me,” he says,
“I’ve forgotten my hat.” Storton turns around and leaves, wearing his hat -- a
few magazines slipping from his grasp, falling to the floor. Nobody says a
word. Storton doesn’t return. I chalk it up to a personal victory. Before the
commotion even has a chance to settle, Cromwell (accompanied by a nerdy looking
man) takes center stage. They introduce one another and instantly commence the
meeting, wearing the only two smiles in the room.
     
    Forty-five minutes later the
jabbering has finally ceased. I haven’t heard a word Cromwell or the nerdy man
uttered. No one has. The room is filled with glazed over eyes and bored
expressions. Percy has actually fallen asleep in his chair and is snoring quite
loudly. Cromwell toughs out the dying crowd as he recapitulates a few of the
major points. I

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