Open Writing

Roscoe Everton pulled his car to the side of the road and looked at his watch. It was 11.50pm. At least he was early. He supposed that was something, after his late decision to come at all. He pulled out the pencil-written note, turned on the overhead light, and read it again.

Roscoe, something to your detriment is being planned in the office. I don’t agree with what they intend to do and feel you must be warned. Sorry about the dramatics but I can’t afford to be seen speaking to you. Meet me about midnight at the 13 mile post on Highway 19. A friend.

The 13 mile post is at the side of the highway opposite a BP Service Station and Snack Bar. Roscoe noticed that business was quiet, for a Friday night. There was only one car at a pump and the driver was talking to the bloke behind the counter. No wonder these places get held-up so often, he thought. They are wide open to villains. As he mused about this, his mind jumped back to his own business. That was the reason he was here. His business was under threat, or so the note said.

As he watched the cafe, the lone customer rose to leave. As he turned towards the door Roscoe recognised the young lad from his mail room. What’s his name again? Derrick? David? No. Darren. Yes, that was it. Darren.

To Roscoe’s surprise, the lad stepped from the shop, put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a balaclava. He slipped it over his head and strode into the darkness towards Roscoe’s car. He went around to the passenger side, swung the door open and slid in.
‘Just as well you came,’ he said. ‘You won’t regret it.’

‘Darren, for God’s sake, take off that bloody disguise. Who do you think you’re fooling? What the hell are we doing here, anyway? You better have a damned good reason.’

‘I didn’t think you’d recognise me,’ Darren began to mutter, then with a sheepish grin, removed the mask. ‘I know something I think you should know. If any of the staff knew I was talking to you, I’d be ostracised for life.’

‘Well! What is it? I don’t want to sit around here half the bloody night.’

‘The staff had a meeting a few nights ago,’ Darren began.

‘Where?’ demanded Roscoe.

‘At Jodie’s place. They have all decided to ring in sick on Monday morning. You’ll have no staff for the day.’

‘That sounds like a pretty stupid plan to me but thanks for telling me, lad. Now get out and let me get home.’

Driving the 13 miles back into town, Roscoe was puzzled why his staff would do this to him. They’re always telling me what a good boss I am, he recalled. Most of them had been with him for years. And why this Monday? Then the answer struck him. He began to grin like a horse eating thistles.

‘Oh Beautiful’ Roscoe slapped his palm on the steering wheel. ‘Two can play that game,’ he yelled to the empty car.

For the rest of the week-end Roscoe kept thinking about his counter attack. ‘We’ll see who wins this round,’ he told himself countless times.

Monday morning, the first call came in about 8.15 am. Jodie was sorry but she’d eaten something, which didn’t agree with her. She was too sick to come to work.

‘That’s OK, Jodie.’ Roscoe was lighthearted. ‘I’ve been thinking about finishing you up. Consider yourself sacked. I’ll send your back pay by mail.’

Even though he banged the phone down smartly, it wasn’t so fast that he didn’t hear the startled gasp.

Grinning widely between calls, Roscoe told each of the next nine callers the same story.

Upset, and in tears, Jodie tried ringing her work mates. She was having trouble raising any of them. They were all busy calling Roscoe to tell him they were too sick to work. When she finally made contact, Jodie was horrified to find they’d all been sacked. She asked them all to meet her outside the office at 11 am. They would try and talk some sense into Roscoe.

When all had arrived, Jodie led the unhappy troop into Roscoe’s office. He was waiting for them. He had a smile from ear to ear, and set out on his polished desk were a number of plates of finger food, a bottle of champagne and a number of glistening glasses.

‘Good morning, Girls.’ Roscoe was beaming. ‘Welcome to April Fool’s Day.’