Let Them Play

Horace A. Grimwald was, to any casual observer, a serious little man of indeterminate age with comically thick glasses and salt-and-pepper hair. Closer inspection would show that behind his coke-bottle glasses his bright, green eyes were flanked by laugh lines, and the few other wrinkles he had were consistent with someone who smiled a lot more than he seemed to.

His employees knew him as a collection of self-contradictions. Horace encouraged his employees to personalize their workspace, but the only decoration on his desk was a hand-carved raccoon, that looked over a hundred years old. While not given to overt frivolity himself, he excused his employees’ frequent tomfoolery with a wink and a smile. Easily old enough to be a parent, if not grandparent, to all his employees, he still insisted on first names and that they all treat each other as siblings. Despite looking like someone who would be at home in a suit, he wore only jeans and band t-shirts, ranging from death metal to EDM acts, all of which he had purchased at their concerts.

Sarah finished the changes to Horace’s computer and locked the screen. “Come on, Bon, we’ve got to sit down and keep it together.”

“I wonder who’ll be the one he suspects when he unlocks it and it blasts that out at full volume,” Bonita said.

“Last year was a bust,” Sarah said. “All that time to wrap his computer and keyboard in foil over the weekend, and then come in on Monday and everyone had new computers.”

“And a nasty email to you from the contractor about it.” Bonita giggled.

“Shush, he’s coming in.”

Horace walked into the office and sat his desk. A half-smile crossed his face. He logged on to his computer, and to Sarah and Bonita’s disappointment it was silent. “Sarah, can you take a look at my computer? I think my sound isn’t working.”

“Sure, Boss.”

Horace stood as Sarah walked over. “I’ll just log in from your computer to get through my email while you fix it.” He winked on his way past.

Sarah checked the connections, rebooted the machine, and finally reinstalled the sound drivers before she could get a test sound from the speakers. “All fixed, Boss.”

“Please, Sarah,” he said, leaving her desk, “call me Horace. We’re all family here, right?”

“You’re right, Horace.” Sarah smiled and returned to her desk.

“What happened?” Bonita asked.

“Sound driver was corrupted.” Sarah frowned as she logged back into her computer. “We’ll get him one of these days. Maybe we can get—” she was interrupted by her speakers blasting at full volume. It was the clip she’d tried to use on Horace.

“YES, DADDY! RAM ME! HARDER, DADDY! HARDER!”

Everyone in the office was staring at her. Her face burned in embarrassment as she frantically tried to turn off the speakers, stop the clip, anything. Nothing worked until she finally unplugged the computer. Laughter spread through the open office until even Bonita was turning red trying not laugh out loud.

“You too?”

“Come on, it was funny!”

“Why didn’t you stop him? Or warn me, at least?”

“Stop him what? I watched him log on, answer a couple emails, and log off. If he did it, he’s a computer ninja.” Bonita looked around the office. “I bet it was Rick and Tim.”

Sarah leaned over to whisper in conspiratorial tones. “That’s okay, Mark said he was lining up something for Rick at break.”

“Did he say what?”

“Just don’t expect any donuts, he said.”

When break time rolled around, Horace called out, “Take a break. I’ll watch the support lines, just save me an old-fashioned.”

Rick was the first in the break room. A shade over six feet tall and rail-thin he was well-known for his diet of junk food and sweets and aversion to anything resembling a vegetable. “Nice,” he said, “Silver Street donuts! Thanks, whoever brought….” He stopped short on opening the box.

The box that promised to hold crullers, old-fashioneds, glazed and jelly donuts instead held a well-appointed vegetable tray. Rick’s shoulders dropped as he looked at the broccoli, cauliflower, red and yellow peppers, cherry tomatoes, carrots, and two types of dip.

He turned to see Mark filming him on his phone. “Damn it! You guys suck,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to stop by Silver Street on my way home and buy my own.”

“April Fools!” Mark sang.

“Works for me,” Tim said, loading up a small paper plate with vegetables. “Means I won’t break my diet today.”

“Going for your summer beach body?” Sarah asked.

“My fifth anniversary is in three months, and I want to fit back into my tux to surprise my husband.”

“Oh, you better send me pictures if you do,” Bonita said.

The conversations crossed; anniversary plans, the latest episode of the show everyone had been watching, that one customer that was a total pain in everyone’s ass. Meanwhile, everyone except Rick was helping themselves to the veggie tray and picking it clean. Rick left the break room first to take over support.

Horace walked in and filled his coffee cup. On his way out, he stopped by the donut box and reached in. He turned to the others sat around the table with an old-fashioned donut in his hand. “Thanks for saving me one,” he said.

“What the hell? Where did that come from?” Mark asked.

“Did he sneak it in here?” Bonita asked.

“He had his coffee in one hand and his phone in the other when he walked in,” Sarah said.

Horace sat at his desk and enjoyed his donut, the look of bewilderment on Rick’s face putting a smile on his own. Once he finished his donut, he got back to work.

Shortly after lunch, a Nerf battle broke out in the office, soft foam darts flying everywhere. Horace sent a document to the printer at the far end of the office and rose to collect it. While he was never directly involved in the Nerf wars, he always maintained that he was a fair target. “Let them play” was his motto, or so he said.

Tim lined up his patented, off-the-ceiling bounce shot whereby he could hit the printer no less than nine times out of ten. As Horace approached the printer, Tim let fly. The dart headed for the ceiling at a slightly higher velocity than usual, intersected a sudden gust from the air handlers, and ricocheted back to land in Tim’s coffee, splashing a small amount of it on his desk. “Gah! Stupid AC!”

Laughter echoed through the office as Horace took his document from the printer and walked slowly back to his desk. He stopped to check a message on his phone as a dart whizzed past just where he had been about to step. Done with the message he began moving again, another dart intersecting the space he’d been only a half-second earlier. He made his way back to his desk unscathed by the myriad darts flying every which direction.

During the afternoon break, Horace again manned the support lines while the others gathered in the break room.

“Okay, we’ve got to get Horace at least once for April Fool’s Day,” Rick said. “I set something up with the cleaning crew last night. The storage closet is full of balloons. Like, way full. When he opens the door, they’ll come pouring out.”

“How do we get him to open the door?” Tim asked.

“Bon, head to the ladies’ room, and when you come back tell him you heard a weird noise from the closet. Since he’s the only one besides maintenance with the key, he’ll have to check.”

“Sounds weak, but I’ll try it,” Bonita said.

Following the plan to the letter, Bonita went to the ladies’ room, waited an appropriate amount of time, and returned to her desk. “Horace, there’s a weird noise coming from the closet. Since you’re the only one with a key….”

Horace raised an eyebrow. “I wonder what it could be?” He crossed the office to the closet, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. After a moment he stepped back out and closed the door. “I didn’t see anything,” he said. “Just so you know, the lock’s been busted for a few weeks now, and I’m not going to replace it. Seems silly to lock up cleaning supplies.”

All eyes were on Rick, accusing stares and glares, except for Bonita. She nodded. “Okay, you got me, Rick,” she said.

Horace took his mug into the break room for another cup of coffee. “Back in a flash.”

As soon as he was out of sight, Rick bolted to the supply closet and flung open the door. An avalanche of balloons poured out, building a pile around him up to his knees. “What the hell!?”

Horace returned from the break room, looked at Rick and raised his mug. “Cheers! Who got you this time?”

“Uh, I… I did?”

“If you say so,” he said, sitting down at his desk.

The day ended as most did, with friendly chatter among the employees before they left. It was as though they were loath to leave each other’s company.

“Hey Horace, are you going straight home?” Sarah asked.

“No, I have a few things to finish up here, then I’m going for all-you-can-eat at the Indian place on Third.”

“All you can eat, huh?” Rick asked.

“Yep. If you ever go, I suggest you start with the pakora.”

“What’s that?”

“Pakora? Deep fried amazing,” Horace said with a smile.

Rick seemed to ponder for a moment. “You know, that sounds good for some reason. Pa-kor-a….”

Sarah leaned close to Horace. “Should we tell him that it’s vegetables?”

“No, let him find out after he realizes how good they are,” Horace answered with a wink.

After all his employees had left for the day, Horace leaned back in his chair, holding the hand-carved raccoon. “Another good year,” he said. His body began to glow and he channeled the energy into the carving, transferring the glow to it. He set it back on his desk and the glow faded, but he could feel the warm thrum of its energy.

The phone rang and he answered, “Grimwald.”

“It’s me, Azeban.” Glooscap sounded weaker than he had in the past.

“Glooscap, how are you cousin?”

“I’m well, how about you?”

“You don’t sound so hot,” Horace said, “but I’m better than ever.”

“Are you getting enough worship?” Glooscap asked. “If you don’t get enough worship, if your stories aren’t told enough, you’ll fade away, like so many of our brothers and sisters.”

“I’ll let you other gods have your stuffy rituals and stories,” he said. “As long as the humans play, I’m fed, especially on this day. You say let them pray, I say let them play.”