Short Story

The Pretentious Leprechaun

As I strolled through the stagnant air, my gaze fixated on the reflective windows showcasing the bustling business district below. Tilting my head back, I traced each floor to the ceiling, where the minimalist black signage perched atop its empire, the letters framed just below the morning sun.

“Data Solutions Incorporated” glared down at me, as if docking my pay each minute that I spent gathering myself before traversing inside. I cast my eyes downward, dusted off my worn jacket, and braced for another harrowing day in hell.

When my leather shoes touched the carpeted foyer, my instinct guided me towards the front desk, where another glare and a tapping pen were already staring me down. Well shit, that’s not good.

“Eric, the boss is not happy with you at all today” her eyes fixed on me like a lion ready to pounce. You see, my boss was a grouchy man, short and plump, with the biggest ego imaginable. Picture a cross between a leprechaun who wants to sell you a condo and a wild boar.

“What did I do this time?” My eyes rolled to the back of my head, but thankfully it escaped her notice. My gaze then began shifting between her long-crooked nose and a sizable black mole on her right cheek.

“Please take a seat; he will be with you in a moment.” Her piercing tone sent a shiver down my spine, and I dared not argue. My eyes surveyed the lobby, a decrepit old man occupied my favourite red seat, forcing me to choose the seat next to him. On my left was a very burly man who smelled of cigarettes and pine wood. The clock loomed over the lobby ticking ever closer to my demise. Legions of beige surrounded me, beige walls, beige doors, and unbelievably even beige stationary. Talk about simplicity.

After an eternity the secretary uttered those dreaded words “Eric, duty calls.” As I moved down the corridor my eyes darted to the pictures on the walls. They always seemed unremarkable, so I never truly absorbed them. I found myself parked in front of a beautiful painting with acrylic flowers dancing across the canvas. It’s not hard to envision a field where flowers like these would spread for miles. Another picture caught my eye, a slightly askew image of a fruit bowl with soft peaches and red delicious apples. However, the most prominent picture depicted a short, plump man with bushy black hair and a thick moustache, and the same disgusted look on his face suggesting everybody else was beneath him.

The inscription below the picture claimed, ‘District Manager of the Year’ and I knew it was full of shit.

As I made my way toward the boss’s office, through the sea of cubicles, the air buzzed with the usual whisper of indistinct conversation, and the distant hum of printers. Suddenly a hush fell over the office. My colleagues, having sensed the oncoming storm, huddled in their cubicles, avoiding my pleading gaze. I reached the protruding corner office, and froze momentarily at the solid oak door, to compose myself. The door was adorned with a sleek brass plaque that announced the kingdom within. Mr. Smith, the infamous boss with a fuse shorter than his stature. I squared my shoulders, inhaled deeply, and finally with forced courage, pushed the door ajar.

“Eric!” His roar hit me like an atomic blast, and the stench of his putrid breath wafted against my nostrils. Mr. Smith, a stout man with a leprechaun’s physique but clearly none of the luck, sat behind his pretentious desk. His face, typically a livid shade of pink, had graduated to full-blown crimson.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that nonchalant expression!” He barked at me, his voice thundering against the walls. “What the hell were you thinking with this project?”

I felt the weight of his disappointment bear down on my shoulders as I stumbled “Sir, I…” I tried to find the words that could prevent provoking the pigheaded storm.

“Don’t ‘sir’ me!” he interrupted, whacking his palm against the desk. ‘I’ve given you everything you need to succeed, and this is how you repay me? With incompetence?”

I swallowed hard; my face fixated on a spot just above his enraged forehead. The berating against me continued, each word a verbal lash. I couldn’t help but glance around as I began to imagine that field of flowers once again. The vibrant bloom of the flowers contrasted sharply with the beige walls of the office, providing a fleeting reprieve from the harsh reality. His words became a distant hum, the thud of my beating heart drowned out the specifics of his reprimand as the field of flowers created a mental sanctuary in my mind. The petals swayed gently in an imaginary breeze, and I could taste the aroma of fresh air with each calming breath. As he raged on, it was as if I wasn’t even there, I had found solace in this fantasy, a small break from the relentless onslaught. His voice had melded with the rustling of the fauna, creating a bizarre symphony that it seemed only I could hear.

Finally, as abruptly as it began, the verbal onslaught ceased. The boss, overjoyed with his outburst, leaned back in his chair, and a sly smirk appeared on his lips.

I mustered what was left of my composure and mumbled an acknowledgement.

I escaped from the office with the scent of that fresh air still lingering in my mind. Once beyond the intimidating door of the office, I took a deep breath, the real world rushed back in. The imagined field retreated to the depths of my mind, replaced by the oppressive beige surroundings. It was a mere escape, a momentary reprieve, but the reality of this project loomed, and the field of flowers remained exactly what it always had been, a pipe dream.