I duck into the meeting room as quietly as possible, shutting the door behind me. Mr. Gregson is sitting at the far end of the table and looks exhausted.
"...a lot lower than expected," I hear him say as I take the only chair left vacant. "But I know that isn't really an explanation."
I look around the room to gauge reactions. Everybody seems to be sporting dumfounded expressions, so either we're all being fired, or...
"I think we've managed to organize things so everyone keeps their job," Gregson continues, tapping the papers on his desk.
Well that's good, I think, but no one in the room except that bug-eyed guy from IT appears to be reassured.
"Don't get me wrong," Gregson says, shrugging. "We will have to make some sacrifices, no question."
One of the business analysts sitting across from me stands up quietly, mouthing the word "restroom" to no one in particular and leaves the room.
Gregson watches her go. When the door shuts behind her, he sighs.
"It's the price of staying solvent," he says. "I know some of you are going to want to start looking for other jobs, and that's okay, but..."
He stops and bobs his head back and forth slightly like he's trying to find the right words.
"But I'll need to know now," he says. "Part of the deal we made requires that continuing employees immediately sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement."
Gregson looks at everyone on the table, silent. No one says anything.
"Good, then," he says, and hands a stack of papers to the person on his left. "Just sign these, and we can get back to business as usual."
There is an extended sound of shuffling and skritching as everyone except the marketing director signs their NDA and hands it back. He's still reading the fine print when Gregson speaks up. "Is there a problem, Brad?" he asks.
The marketing director looks up, his finger still pointing to a piece of text on the agreement. "No seafood?" he asks. "Really?"
Gregson sighs, and I suddenly wish I had the agreement to look at again.
"Come on, Brad," Gregson finally says. "He's a fish god. What do you think?"
My eyes twitch back to Gregson. I'm not sure I've heard him right.
"Fine, fine," the marketing director says, signing the document. "I only liked the fried stuff, anyway. No good for me."
Gregson puts the last sheet onto the pile. "Okay then," he says, visibly relieved. Reaching down to his laptop bag at his feet, he pulls out a copper circlet and places it on his head.
I look around the room, and no one seems particularly surprised at this. The guy next to me is idly biting his nails.
Mr. Gregson raises his hands, palms outward, to either side of his head.
"Great lord Dagon welcomes you, the supplicants, into his embrace," he says. "Hail Dagon."
"Hail Dagon," everyone repeats. I manage a confused "...gon," but no one notices.
"All right," Gregson says, getting up from his chair. "Let's get back to work."
Everyone at the table starts to gather their things and stand.
"I did want to remind everyone," the voice of the HR director calls out over the growing din. "We're still having the blood drive this Friday, and participation is now mandatory."
"...a lot lower than expected," I hear him say as I take the only chair left vacant. "But I know that isn't really an explanation."
I look around the room to gauge reactions. Everybody seems to be sporting dumfounded expressions, so either we're all being fired, or...
"I think we've managed to organize things so everyone keeps their job," Gregson continues, tapping the papers on his desk.
Well that's good, I think, but no one in the room except that bug-eyed guy from IT appears to be reassured.
"Don't get me wrong," Gregson says, shrugging. "We will have to make some sacrifices, no question."
One of the business analysts sitting across from me stands up quietly, mouthing the word "restroom" to no one in particular and leaves the room.
Gregson watches her go. When the door shuts behind her, he sighs.
"It's the price of staying solvent," he says. "I know some of you are going to want to start looking for other jobs, and that's okay, but..."
He stops and bobs his head back and forth slightly like he's trying to find the right words.
"But I'll need to know now," he says. "Part of the deal we made requires that continuing employees immediately sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement."
Gregson looks at everyone on the table, silent. No one says anything.
"Good, then," he says, and hands a stack of papers to the person on his left. "Just sign these, and we can get back to business as usual."
There is an extended sound of shuffling and skritching as everyone except the marketing director signs their NDA and hands it back. He's still reading the fine print when Gregson speaks up. "Is there a problem, Brad?" he asks.
The marketing director looks up, his finger still pointing to a piece of text on the agreement. "No seafood?" he asks. "Really?"
Gregson sighs, and I suddenly wish I had the agreement to look at again.
"Come on, Brad," Gregson finally says. "He's a fish god. What do you think?"
My eyes twitch back to Gregson. I'm not sure I've heard him right.
"Fine, fine," the marketing director says, signing the document. "I only liked the fried stuff, anyway. No good for me."
Gregson puts the last sheet onto the pile. "Okay then," he says, visibly relieved. Reaching down to his laptop bag at his feet, he pulls out a copper circlet and places it on his head.
I look around the room, and no one seems particularly surprised at this. The guy next to me is idly biting his nails.
Mr. Gregson raises his hands, palms outward, to either side of his head.
"Great lord Dagon welcomes you, the supplicants, into his embrace," he says. "Hail Dagon."
"Hail Dagon," everyone repeats. I manage a confused "...gon," but no one notices.
"All right," Gregson says, getting up from his chair. "Let's get back to work."
Everyone at the table starts to gather their things and stand.
"I did want to remind everyone," the voice of the HR director calls out over the growing din. "We're still having the blood drive this Friday, and participation is now mandatory."
Hilarious.
Posted by: Liz | September 18, 2007 at 04:20 PM
Board meetings over Innsmouth.
Is it a bad thing that I find corporate America *less* horrific under the auspices of one of the Great Old Ones?
Posted by: Marcus Aurelius | September 19, 2007 at 08:53 AM
Loved it.
Posted by: Stubby LaRue | September 19, 2007 at 03:09 PM
No, I too think that meetings in general are frightfully dull unless they involve paying grisly homage to an ancient god...
Posted by: Liz | September 19, 2007 at 11:14 PM