1.

  Coffee mug was empty. Third time today, and he was stuck in a meeting right now. Oh the joys of being in the office! Ryan forced a smile as in front of him sat two women. There is no desk in between the women and Ryan. Nope! That would only create a feeling of superiority, and Ryan was anything but superior to these women. The office had his desk straddling the absolute corner of the room, allowing for a couch and several chairs, and a nice modern rug. Can't forget to observe the presence of a rug. It really ties everything together, and makes the room feel less like a corporate office surrounded by the eternal thundering of keys and aromas of the earlier lunches. Shit! Greg brought leftover trout again. With the rug, it was a place to share what was going on with you in a manner that had the people that care to enter believing that all shared inside was for their benefit and will in no way lead to their ultimate termination of employment. With the rug, this was cozy Human Resources room that cared about the people of Fuchsia Frontiers International. Without the rug, it would just be damned HR.

  The women continued their dual-monologue, a talent only seasoned office employees can master. Ryan was not such a master. Sadly the combined voices, trying to explain to Ryan Willard (senior HR Manager at the Fuchsia Frontiers International (FFI) headquarters in Lexington, Kentucky) the problems with the current allowance of "Causal Fridays" and the distractions created by the lack of professionalism one day can create, failed to register in his ears.

  Work long enough in Human Resources and eventually what started as hot gossip for the first month of the job, turns into noise. Loud noise without any rhythm, like listening to mumble rappers trying to form a sentence but then forgetting their train of thought in the recording booth. Now repeat this cacophony of random vocal vibrations for the unfortunate majority of an eight hour day. Go home. Wake up and do it again for five days. Matter of fact….do it for another 50 weeks. Then do that for another forty years. And now we have the baseline for the mental state of a sane person cosplaying as a workplace therapist. Damn that's depressing…Phew...good thing Ryan doesn't have a gun under his desk, otherwise he might just find an opportunity to buy some silence.

  That word may have thrown you off. No! Not gun! The other trigger word, "Opportunity." Problems or situations don't exist in the world of a corporate office. No SIR-E-BOB! Everything is an opportunity. When Marshall got his hand glued to the inside of the 3D printer, that wasn't a problem; that was an opportunity to buy a new printer and discover how quickly skin can regrow on a hand. When Kara brought peanut butter into the office and the air contact sent Feinberg into anaphylactic shock, that wasn't a situation; that was an opportunity to practice administering EpiPens.

  You see, at Fuchsia Frontiers International, the goal was to always look for an opportunity to grow as a person. Even when that opportunity allowed for a person's growth to occur separately from FFI. Ryan fumbled often with that type of speech. But four years into the job, he was fully indoctrinated.

  "Kara has this massive mole on the top of her chest. It's super gross! I CAN'T FOCUS!"

  "Michael DIDN'T wear a belt and so I had to stare at his massive butt-crack all day."

  "Sara wore leggings. She didn't even have panties on."

  Come again. That last sentence wasn't just noise, unlike the majority of what Ryan heard in these mediation sessions. "She didn't even have panties on." The words pulled Ryan from the foggy longing for another cup of coffee and opened up a whole trail of memories for him.

  Don't be gross. It wasn't like that. Ryan is a stand-up guy. Actually stand-up, or really "standing up" was where his thoughts were.

  "Thank God Almighty it is 2022." Ryan thought as the barrage of grievances were continuing to be aired as though it were a proper Festivus. Ryan remembered the plight of COVID, the almighty COVID, and how it nearly killed FFI during the spring and summer of 2020. It was the age of Murder March, Agony April, Malignant May, and Guillotine June (the creative person in charge of codenaming the months found herself a casualty of June). All throughout this period of time Fuchsia Frontiers International found herself corralled and backed into a corner, fighting for her very life, as though she were a modern Kingdom of Jerusalem under siege from a societal Sennacherib burning down and laying waste to all structures and personnel of the consolidated corporation.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Nobody died! And yet, COVID found a way to rip apart the staff and leave Fuchsia Frontiers naked and exposed with extreme gaps in their corporate structure. In all 137 people of the company lost their jobs during this plague of the world. From the secretarial pool, to sales managers, to account reps, to team leads, and even a few bodies from the C-suite, no role was safe from the effects of COVID….

  Though, it isn't truly fair to give all the credit to COVID, when really it was ZOOM that was the downfall of the 137 people. ZOOM, the dreaded murderer of careers. No one was safe in 2020. Ryan barely escaped with his neck. Purely luck, and the smart thinking of his wife to have the house always set to 60 degrees, even in the dog days of summer. Yes, it was thanks to his wife's commitment to emancipate the dollars from Ryan's account to pay for the AC bill that Ryan managed to survive those awful months.

  "I could see Becky's stomach piercing and it looked infected."

  "John hasn't clipped his toenails in maybe ten years." The carping continued. Ryan nodded his head while a smile formed as he mentally thanked his wife for her love of AC, for without it….Ryan might not have worn pants while on ZOOM.

  Yes, that was the true weapon of COVID in the world of the moderately healthy corporate America, not wearing pants while on ZOOM. 137 people. 137 careers ruined and crashed to bits because they, in the comfort of their homes decided to not wear pants and only have a semi-professional top on while they prattled away on ZOOM video calls. It was always the same. Lock-in, stay in one place, hover on your professional looking t-shirt with camera frame, and do not move. That was the game plan. And yet….for some reason, so many people as the days of being at home turned into weeks and then into months, the comfort level increased and their guard dropped. The body relaxed and people got lazy at home with their dress. Then "Oh I have those notes over here," and BOOM! Tim just got up and everyone in the meeting sees little Tim in all his unkempt greasy glory. Tim doesn't notice at first. He grabbed his papers and sat back down…then it hit him. That was the end of Tim. That was the end of 136 others at Fuchsia Frontiers. Becky and her backdoor, Ronald and his wife not wearing a bra. Even the CFO Archie Haymer fell to ruin as he failed to realize his boxers, the worn-out boxers he wore one morning had the most profound rip in crotch. It was a real shame for Archie. And it was really awkward for Ryan in all 137 of those video meetings. No, he wasn't present for the exposures, but he had to gather testimonies, review the footage….and then with a superior in that person's department, Ryan had to discuss the opportunity for the exposed to explore other financial sources of income.

  It was ugly, but it was textbook. Strictly by the company policy manual.

  Ryan's a textbook kind of guy, a modern guy, the kind of guy that at times people wonder if he still has an ounce of testosterone in his body. Which he does. Moments like these when people used his office for a personal gripe session and often stay so long they fall behind on their work, Ryan wanted to unleash the beast within. Well…more like the mouse inside.

  "Tonya, Celia, you're both right!" He stood up out of an overpriced chair manufactured and advertised to provide the perfect lumbar support. "You have given me empirical proof that we have an opportunity to grow as a company, and remove casual Friday." Ryan formed a rock with his right and softly slammed the closed fist onto his left palm.

  "Well don't do that."

  "Yeah, Ryan honey don't do that." Celia spouted, parroting the tonal frequency of Tonya.

  "Ladies, you have been here in my office for about an hour giving me all the vivid details of things we can improve upon in our dress. What else am I supposed to do, but protect your workplace integrity and cancel Casual Friday?"

  "But sugar plumb," Tonya loved calling him arrays of dated terms of endearment, "We were only just in here to gossip with our friend. Don't you just love being included in girl talk?" Both women began to giggle and blush without restraint. They arose from the couch, a couch placed in the office for the purpose of allowing people to feel safe if they were involved in a scary office kerfuffle. Ryan hung his head as they left while waving goodbye and smiling. The man remaining in the office knew that he had just lost an hour of his life.

  He gripped his writing wrist, massaging it with the other. Cramping commonly occurred for him as his wrote notes during meetings and sessions. He would love to use the computer, but that would require him to have his back to the people confiding in him, so it wasn't proper policy manual etiquette. "I love my job," He muttered as the stinging pain in his wrist crawled along the top of his skull. This was another moment of him speaking affirmative company lingo, rather than expressing his true feelings.

  Then his eyes slowly looked at the decorative office clock…

  It was 10:46am…

  On a Tuesday.

  There wasn't a gun under his desk. Right? We went over this.

  "I wish there was a gun under my desk."