Employee of the Month

Wally wiped a fingerprint off his plaque with his monogrammed handkerchief. He couldn’t blame others for pawing at his award, for it truly was glorious: Employee of the Month, East-Northeast Sales Division 03, Town of Franklin, March 2020. Fitting recognition for his instrumental role in securing a partnership with the Mexicans. That the Mexican partners went under right after could hardly be blamed on him.

He took a step back, and it struck him how his plaque was a lonely beacon of hope, a single glimmer of fame on a wall, otherwise, of shame. There was his name on March 2020, and pretty much every other spot was taken up by Ingrid Crandall.

The system was rigged. It was already nine-o-five, and the witch wasn’t even at her desk yet. He walked over to it and tsked.

“Figures,” he said, needlessly loud. “She wins a couple awards and thinks she’s some kind of hot shit. Like she doesn’t even need to show up any more.”

Janice at the next desk over stopped typing and exhaled sharply. “Her water broke last night, dumbass. She’s at the hospital giving birth.”

“Anything to get out of work.”

Janice cracked her joints, kept her peace, and returned to typing.

Just then Mr. Tyler rushed in, his tie flailing and his eyes wide. “Ingrid!” he began, but cut short when he got to her desk. “Oh, where’s Ingrid?”

“Bad – though predictable – news, boss,” Wally said. “She basically quit.”

“What!?”

“She did not quit,” Janice said. “What the hell is the matter with you, Wally?” Then she turned to Mr. Tyler and her face brightened fit to bursting. “It happened!” she sang.

There was a tiny confused crease on Mr. Tyler’s brow, but a moment later his eyes widened and he cracked a smile. “No!” he said. “It happened? She’s having a baby?” Then they both jumped up and down, screaming with a glee that scurried down Wally’s spine. He grimaced and nearly dropped his coffee.

“Oh, we’ll have to send her something!” Mr. Tyler said. “A bouquet, chocolates, diapers; something. I’ll talk to HR. But, I guess this means she’s going to be on mat leave for a while.” His face sank, and he placed his hands on his hips. “Dang it, we really need her. The delegation from Hamburg arrived a week early and I desperately need a translator.”

“I can do it!” Wally shouted, needlessly as he was right beside Mr. Tyler.

Janice arched an eyebrow. “You can do what, Wally?”

“The job, Janice. I can do the job. Especially Ingrid’s job, since she gets all the easy ones. I’m a translator, after all.”

“Hmm,” said Janice.

“I basically mentored Ingrid. Taught her everything I know.”

“Hmm,” said Janice, louder.

“Are you sure, Wally?” Mr. Tyler said.

“You can count on your number one employee of the month, boss! After all, aren’t I the guy that got us the Mexico partnership?”

“Well, but that fell apart right away.”

“Not right away, sir. It lasted like a year.”

“Actually,” said Janice, “it fell apart six days after the agreement was signed.”

“Yeah well, I don’t exactly control foreign government auditors, now do I? How was I supposed to know they were a front–”

“Guys!” Mr. Tyler said. “This is urgent, please. Now, Wally, are you sure you can do this? The Schneider account is very important to us.”

“Yeah, no sweat boss.”

“Ingrid worked very hard on it, and she had to sort out a tonne of tiny gotchas.”

“Yeah, got it, boss,” said Wally. He noticed a thick file on Ingrid’s desk, labeled “Schneider”. He picked it up. “See? These are her notes. Well, our notes, really, as we basically co-wrote it. I helped her every step of the way, basically. I mentored her. Basically.”

Janice rolled her eyes.

“Oh,” said Mr. Tyler. “Well that’s super news! A huge weight off my mind. Because, let me tell you, if we don’t get this account, HQ is going to shut our branch down.”

Wally gulped. “No sweat.”

“Well, all right then! Let’s get to conference room one, and close this deal with the Germans.”

Mr. Tyler hustled out of the room and Wally followed, with Ingrid’s file under his arm. And then it hit him.

“Germans!?”

His fear was confirmed when the party from Hamburg replied to his cheerful “¡Buenos días!” with confused frowning and a carefully measured “Guten Tag.”

“Anything the matter?” Mr. Tyler whispered.

“Nope. No sir. You know Germans though, always so serious.” He chuckled nervously.

“Oh, right. Well, okay then.” He cleared his throat and addressed the other party. “First off, welcome! I’m sure you’d like to get right to business, so let me assure you, the latest agreement is fine by us.” He smiled wide, and silence hung in the air. The Germans looked from Mr. Tyler to Wally.

“Well?” Mr. Tyler hissed. “Wally!”

“Right!” Wally cleared his throat too, and then again a couple times more. Then he took a sip of water, and a sip turned to a drink, then a quaff, and then a drain. Then he reached for the water pitcher.

“Wally!”

Wally nearly dropped the pitcher. He looked at the foreigners, cleared his throat a final time, and translated. “Wunderbar Gesundheit Luftballon.” Most of the meaning was conveyed by his animated hand gestures.

The Germans were ruffled. One even gasped. They looked at each other, murmured, and made some sharp hand gestures of their own.

“What are they saying?” Mr. Tyler whispered.

“They, um,” Wally whispered back, “are very grateful for the water. It’s unusually tasty.”

“It’s tap.”

“Yes. Apparently they have bad tap water at home.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Tyler. “Well, it’s good we could accommodate them then.”

Finally the other party came to some conclusion and one of them stepped forward. He took a sip of his bottled water and cleared his throat. Then he let out a torrent of sound that was teasingly familiar and yet ultimately alien enough to jelly the mind, and the bottom of Wally’s stomach dropped.

“Well? What did they say?” asked Mr. Tyler. “Wally!”

“Sir!” He gulped. “Ah, well, you see–”

“Yes? Yes?”

“It turns out, they’re not satisfied with the deal.”

“What!?”

“They want to restart negotiations from scratch.”

“But it’s their deal! We are accepting their terms!”

“Yes, well, you know these Germans, sir. A bit of a ‘measure once, cut twice’ kind of people.”

“Really. The Germans.”

“Yup.”

“People who are famous for their engineering and precision.”

“Well, not these ones, anyway.”

“Wally,” Mr. Tyler hissed. “We need this deal. Ingrid said it was ironclad. We need to fix this now!”

“Well, that’s the problem right there sir. They feel like we weren’t negotiating in good faith. They felt bullied. Basically, they’re very dissatisfied with Ingrid.”

“Really? Dissatisfied with Ingrid?”

When the Germans caught her name, a ripple of excitement went through them, with lots of smiling and nodding. Their leader spoke, “Ingrid! Ja, wo ist Ingrid bitte?”

“See?” said Wally. “Woe is Ingrid. Bitter woe. Nothing but chaos, that one.”

“I see,” Mr. Tyler said, with a blooming frown. “Well, Wally, you just have to fix it. You know we need this deal. Whatever it takes.”

Wally felt his mouth run dry, but then Mr. Tyler said the magic words. “I’m counting on you. Do this, and you’ll make Employee of the Year. Across all East-Northeast Sales Divisions.”

The fire was lit.

Wally dug into the depths of his memories, back to that one first year German course he failed three times. He recalled everything he had ever seen David Hasselhoff in. He channeled the feeling of once being a passenger in a Volkswagen. He visualized his new plaque, and the awards gala that came with it – and yes, even the Germans were in the audience cheering for him. And he got to work.

And he was magnificent. Nobody present would ever forget that meeting.

His energy rivaled the sun as he leapt around the conference room. He put up dozens of unlabelled numbers on the whiteboard, and even drew arrows connecting some of them. He made eye contact with everyone – unceasing, unblinking eye contact. His tone was the opposite of monotone and he was practically singing. He threw out every German word he could, in rapid-fire. He gave them three Pumpernickels and a Rammstein; part of O Tannenbaum topped with a Frau Bundeskanzlerin; a string of heavily accented mumbling capped with Bei Mir Bist Du Schön. And all the while, he kept spinning his arms in circles and bringing his hands together, in what was clearly a sign of unity or togetherness or geometry.

When he was finally done, he was drenched with sweat and breathing heavily. Everyone stared at him with wide eyes.

The Germans finally whispered something: a breathless, trembling, “Was?”

“Well?” asked Mr. Tyler. “You were magnificent, Wally! What did they say? Will they reconsider?”

Wally put a hand on Mr. Tyler’s shoulder. “I think so, sir. They need a moment to think it over.” When he looked back at them, he saw the incredulity had faded to hard scowls, and they were all on their phones. “I just need to get something from my desk.”

Wally hurried back to his office, walked to the wall with his plaque, and muttered “fuck fuck fuck” under his breath as his heart raced.

“You don’t speak German, do you?” Janice asked.

“Not a word.”

“We’re all out a job, aren’t we?”

“I panicked.”

“Oh, Wally.”

Wally grabbed his plaque, his coat, and his coffee mug. He left his office, went downstairs instead of back to the conference room, and then to the parking lot. And then he got into his Chevy and drove off.