Parlogne in Four

 

“In chess, the primary objective of the opening is to develop the pieces and achieve a playable position.” ChessMarshals.com

The smell of cheap catered food wafted from the warming trays and settled over the holiday adorned walls and checkered tiles of the Parlogne manufactory breakroom. In the far corner a television displayed an oddly complected man garbed in a blue suit as he prattled about a rigged election. Lysander looked at his watch. He detested company parties. Trying to pretend that he was interested in his subordinates’ personal lives and they in his was exhausting, and a waste of his time. So much so that he divided his attention between the digital display on his wrist and Patsy Auger, the company’s production manager and acting human resources officer.

“I have some great news,” Patsy said to the group of production workers turned party goers huddled around her. “The Occupational Safety and Health Administration has completed their investigation into the death of,” she paused and looked at the sheet of paper in her hand. “Issar! They have found us not liable for Issar’s unfortunate accident.” Patsy wiped her forehead with the back of her hand which held the name of the deceased worker in feigned exhaustion. Her shoulders slouched forward, and she exhaled deeply before a broad smile formed across her lips. “That’s right everyone breathe a sigh of relief! That was a close one!”

Samael, a friend of Issar’s, couldn’t believe what he heard.

“What about his family?” Samael asked.

Stay in your lane Sam. Work the steps like the time you made amends to anyone and everyone. Prostrating yourself all over the company floor, “I’m so sorry for being a fuckin junkie!” Pathetic! Lysander, thought.

“Do they know how he slowly strangled while his collar was wrapped around a piece of machinery?” Samael pressed his position. “Should they breathe a sigh of relief too? Everyone else feel comfortable knowing the same thing could happen to us?”

Patsy inhaled sharply and looked down as she said, “I don’t think it was that bad. From what I understand his neck broke killing him instantly. As far as prevention…”

Lysander looked down at his watch after he felt two consecutive buzzes at his wrist. A text message appeared on the screen, “The cat plays the fiddle at 9:00.” Lysander’s heart raced. Fucking meetings!

“What about safety pinning the collars to the coveralls,” Lysander interrupted. After ten years with the company Lysander knew exactly what they wanted to hear. The solution never needed to be viable, only plausible and cheap.

Patsy smiled and addressed the crowd. “That is an excellent idea. I’ll put it in a company email on Monday. And remember, Arthur Dickran, that’s right our CEO, will be speaking to us tonight. Now go have fun. You all earned it!”

Samael shoved his sleeves up, folded his arms and shook his head.

“A piece that is not supported is easy prey.” ChessMarshals.com

Samael cornered Lysander as he knelt over the electrical outlet the warming trays were plugged in to. Lysander tripped the outlet’s circuit breaker and stood up. The power to the trays went dead, and the food began to cool.

“Who do you think you are?”

“I’ll tell you who you’re not,” Samael continued. “You’re not a manager. No, you’re just a trained rat. A low-level supervisor hiding behind a title they’ll occasionally let out of its cage.” 

Lysander was taken aback by Samael’s defiance and wondered if his authority extended beyond normal working hours. He glanced over at Patsy and decided it did.  “You’re pissed about Issar is that it?”

“I’m pissed about the answer you gave Patsy at the meeting. Safety pinning the collars? What the fuck!”

Lysander pulled out a flask from his pocket, poured some in a cup and handed it to Samael.

“Look around you. All these people laughing, joking, jockeying for position, that’s what they care about. Not about some blue-collar stiff that didn’t make it home. So, drop the crusader routine and do whatever it takes to get your mind right. Take a drink, I don’t really give a shit, but at the end of the day, you acclimate, or you’re gone.”

“Laissez-faire,” Samael said through flared nostrils.

“Something like that.”

Samael bowed his head and said, “What happened to you Lysander? Is what they’re paying you worth it to roll over whenever they say good boy?”

Lysander stared at Samael with wide eyes and his fingers rolled into balls baring white knuckles. Before Lysander could respond Patsy’s, shrill voice diverted his attention.

“Everyone!” Patsy shouted. “Mr. Dickran would like to share a few words with us.”

While Samael’s head was turned Lysander dropped a couple of norcos in Sam’s cup. Good luck with Monday’s urinalysis.

“The decoy is a tactic useful at getting your opponent to move to a square they don’t want to.” ChessMarshals.com

The employees huddled around a small podium behind it stood a slender man that gestured with authority. Standing next to him was Patsy Auger, and behind them a television displayed an orange complected man wearing a blue suit telling everyone they must fight like hell, but all eyes were on the man behind the podium, Arthur Dickran CEO of Parlogne.

“Fifteen years ago, I founded Parlogne in my basement,” Arthur Dickran said. “A non-binary fragrance that blended in as uniquely and individually as the person who wears it. Today, we have this,” Arthur paused and waved his arms around the room in a slow circle.

Lysander’s watch vibrated, and he read the display, “Hey diddle diddle where’s the bitch in the middle?”

Lysander shouted, “we love you Dickran!” Lysander then chanted “Parlogne! Parlogne!” Soon the entire room echoed in one accord.

“I love you sons of bitches too,” Arthur said as he choked back the emotion.

“Arthur the food is getting cold.”

“What’s that?” Arthur asked and the whole room went placid. “My wife is telling me that we need to get our food now or it will be as cold as our competition.” Laughter splashed around the room. “Patsy had some remarks for you, but we can send them out in an email. Can’t we Patsy?”

Patsy’s eyebrows came together, cheeks flushed, and she glared at Lysander. She nodded her head.

“A pin occurs when an attacked piece cannot move without subjecting a more valuable piece to destruction” ChessMarshals.com  

“Lysander there you are,” Patsy said. “That was quite the display back there.”

“Well, you know how we all feel about Dick.”

“It’s weird what happened to the warming trays. Apparently, a circuit breaker was tripped?”

Lysander shrugged.

“You and Samael were back there just before Arthur spoke.”

‘I didn’t notice anything.”

“Hmm.” Patsy turned and was about to walk away when she faced Lysander and said, “You know we are short on servers.”

“I can’t do it Patsy; my knee has been acting up…”

“That’s a shame. We haven’t seen your wife tonight. Couldn’t she make it? I can call her and let her know you’ll be late if that’s the problem.”

Patsy’s words pierced the pit of Lysander’s stomach. “I think my knee is good for an hour or two,” Lysander capitulated.

“Fuck this place!” Samael screamed.

Patsy and Lysander turned and witnessed a very inebriated Samael twisting on the checkered floor. Soon the entire room formed a half circle around the intoxicated man. Arthur shot Patsy a cold stare that said, ‘you better clean this shit up.’

Lysander gazed at Dickran then at Patsy. The corners of Lysander’s lips raised, and his eyes sparkled, I got you Patsy, but I won’t be serving dishes.

A checkmate occurs when your opponent has been thwarted or countered completely.” ChessMarshals.com

Lysander ensured Samael was buckled in before tipping the Uber driver. He walked over to his car, popped the trunk, and checked his watch. Fifteen minutes. He pulled his plushy dog costume from his trunk and threw it into the front seat. His groin ached as he thought about the night ahead. He put his car in drive, it’s pungent exhaust blended into the atmosphere and settled over the Parlogne manufactory. Never did he feel more alive, free, empowered, than when he melted into a costumed crowd.