Lucky 13
by Melodie
Corrigall
Tania tossed
and turned all night, struggling to find the
words to save her job. While a good response
could lead to a promotion, a poor one could
result in a dismissal.
Finally at 3 a.m. her husband roared, “Stop
jumping around. Just say ‘Thanks’ and
take the consequences.” He’d sing
another tune if she were fired.
Less than a year ago the staff had welcomed the
new boss as a breath of spring compared to her
predecessor, a wintry old codger. Granted a few
men mentioned her weight as if this would
influence her management skills and one woman had
mocked her accent. But generally there had been
smiles all around.
At the first meeting, the new boss—“Call
me Sylvia”—had taken time to point out
her management style.
“I see us as a community,” she began.
“We’ll work hard but we’ll also
play hard.”
The first sign of the play was the introduction
of birthday celebrations. Now for every
birthday, Sylvia dug into petty cash to provide
cake and ice cream. After the hearty singing, the
secretary served up the treats in small dishes (except
for Marcus who brought his own large bowl).
And after the cake, the boss would say “Congratulations”
and bring out a gift. The first time this
happened, there was a surprised gasp.
“Open it now, I want to see if you like it,”
the boss cajoled.
Of course, the birthday boy would like it: he
liked his job. And it was already apparent Sylvia
was capricious: you were on her side or out the
door.
The gift was a pair of wooden salad forks,
evidently purchased on the small island where
Sylvia had holidayed before taking on her new
position.
Six weeks later, the second birthday celebrant
received an identical set of salad forks. And so
indeed did the next ten.
On each occasion, it was obvious that a unique
and memorable response was required. Every
birthday became more challenging.
“I’d hoped I’d get such a unique
gift.”
“My wife wished we had such exotic salad
forks.”
“Our family and friends will be impressed.
By number 12, ammunition was running low.
More than once the boss had said how she liked
original thought. So, in turn, each person
reached for something to bring a smile to Sylvia’s
face.
“I’m glad the mother lode hasn’t
dried up.”
“Mother lode?” Sylvia had queried,
noting the speaker’s name in her notebook.
And now here was Tania, unlucky 13. She was
already on thin ice with Sylvia who “didn’t
need a slogger in her department.”
“For some 13 is unlucky, for me it is a
happy day,” Tania began before even opening
the parcel. “I’d have been disappointed
if I didn’t get the cherished gift.”
She tore open the package, and watched in horror
as a set of chopsticks scattered to the floor.
“Or something even better,” Tania said
whacking her head on the table as she scooped
them up.
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