Dispensable
By: Jonah Spear
Tags: Fiction, Fiction Friday, Science Fiction, Fiction Writing, Short Story

Larry walked into the office knowing what was to come. The writing was on the walls. His manager had asked him last week to write a “non-mandatory self-performance assessment”, before noting that it was actually mandatory — in this specific case. Wherein, he had been asked to justify his existence at EZ-Sprink Inc. Of course his sales had been down. When’s the last time anybody had watered their lawn? 10 years? There’s hardly been a dry day this year since January. Of course, it’s acid rain more days than not, so not much would grow in the first place that would even need watering. Not to mention the steadily reducing lawn acreage in the southeastern quarter due to obvious reasons.

So what could Larry do other than say that his sales were down 18% this year, and had been steadily dropping since his first year? And ah, what a great year that was. When he was fresh out of school. Ah, what an age. To be 37 again. He was so full of life back then. Vivacious. It seemed like nothing could go wrong. I mean, it was his very first job out of school. And let me tell you, his two doctorates did NOT prepare him for the intricacies of lawn sprinkler sales.

Of course things were easier back then. It was what, ‘52? He had chalked it all up to more efficient customer-to-sale conversion ratios due to contact culling and sale pipeline hypertrophy management; how naive he was. All the brand-spanking-new techniques that will “catalyze YOUR sales” that he learned in his second doctorate degree didn’t amount to a drop in a bucket. Of course sales were good that year! There was less than 1.5 inches of rain failing in the northeastern corridor of the Continental United Zone for that entire year! Everyone wanted a lawn sprinkler. And not to mention that the Republic of Florida was still above water. Those Floridians. They just love their lawn sprinklers!. He had fond memories of driving in his new Astro x8 (convertible) practically throwing lawn sprinklers door to door. That’s how easy it was.

Walking into Sgt. Beauford’s office was always strange. It was partially funny, a little scary, but mostly strange. The first reason was that The Sarge (as he preferred you call him (as he would tell you quite directly if you called him anything other than The Sarge)) always sat at a large dark oak table in a dimly lit room — the only light source coming from the two lamps in either back corner of the large room. He also had the particular habit of turning his large swivel desk chair entirely around (facing the wall) so that when you walked in, the only thing you would see was the green brim of the Sergeant’s military cap peeking out from from the top of the large, brown, chair.

This might be an opportune time to mention that The Sarge is not an actual Sergeant of any military or paramilitary organization that exists, as far as Larry and the other sales team members can deduce. He would never bring up these sentiments in the face of The Sarge, of course. What’s the use? Those in the sales department have found that it’s far better to play into The Sarge’s little game than to question it. Those who question the legitimate rank of The Sarge do not last long at EZ-Sprink Inc. On the other hand, many have noticed that those in the sales department who most play into military decorum are very same ones who often find themselves receiving choice promotions, larger-than-expected bonuses, and much coveted window-facing desks.

So when Larry walked into the office of The Sarge, he stood at full attention with his right hand to the brim of his own Private’s cap in a military salute. Of course, he wasn’t in any military or paramilitary organization himself. Neither were any of his coworkers, who also chose to don the hat of a C.U.Z private. Outside the office, this would be looked down upon, wearing the military accoutrements of your nation’s service member without actually being in the military service, so most of the sales team chose to dedicate one of their drawers to their military cap, and another to their medals. The green camo fatigues couldn’t fit in most standard desk draws, so many chose to keep their fatigues in a designated gym locker downstairs.

Standing at attention was never pleasant in the large, dimly lit room of Sergeant Beauford. It would often feel like hours, waiting for the small, white-haired Sergeant to slowly, very slowly, to turn around in his big, brown, office chair. Because of The Sarge’s small stature, Private Larry had to do the particularly difficult job of maintaining a completely serious expression while The Sarge leaned forward and used the tips of his toes, making minimal contact with the ground, to accelerate the chair in the proper direction, and then to decelerate once his final position had been reached, facing Private Larry.

After placing Larry “at ease”, The Sarge started by expounding upon Napoleon’s defeat at the Battle of Waterloo. Such military references were common with The Sarge, and any diligent sales person was sure to read up on the major conflicts of the last two or three centuries. Though, doing such diligence was only for the most dedicated of sales representatives and sales managers, because The Sarge would he would often repeat himself, so that by your third year at EZ-Sprink Inc. you would be well-versed in most major battles of the past 3 world wars due to The Sarge’s speeches alone.

It was in the middle of such a speech that Larry felt a feeling in his stomach. A feeling that was hard to place. It didn’t have the acidity of gastric reflux, and it felt much too sharp to be mere stomach gurgles. No, this was a fart. And, judging by the growing pressure in his stomach he determined it to be a very large fart. Possibly the largest fart he had ever farted in his adult life. It was when The General pulled down the large rollable battle map from behind his desk that Private Larry was forced to make a very, very difficult choice. He quickly formulated a battle plan in his head. His options as he could see them were thus: