Member-only story
The Last Threat
The final straw that made me turn my back on corporate culture
He barges in like a kid pursued by a drooling German Shepherd.
Yaa, my colleague, tries to calm him down. She pleads with him to wear his mask and tell his story. The twenty seconds that follow his silence tick the time bomb in his head.
Boom. Our surprise guest goes off again, spraying shards of swear words at all in sight while threatening to have us locked up and abandoned in jail. I’m in shock. What’s going on? This is like nothing I’ve ever seen on the job.
Yaa storms out, leaving me to face my middle-aged African American guest alone. Does he have a pistol in his pocket? What if I infuriate him and leave him no option but to pull it out and do me in? A small process of osmosis begins in my body: my mouth is dry; my armpits are wet.
The thought of bolting pops up in my head. But I veto it. Instead, I look down at the foot of my desk for confirmation. Yes, the 24-inch monkey wrench is still lying there. That would be my tool for self-defense if my guest dares lay a pinkie on me.
Thankfully, Yaa returns with the security supervisor in tow. Smart move. The air suddenly feels good in my nostrils. The air-conditioner roars back to life from hibernation.
