MR. CROMWELL

2007

My boss was the biggest jerk. Not only did he treat me like crap, he always verbally abused my girlfriend, his executive assistant. This week turned out to be one of the worst I’ve had with him. He was more ornery than usual. Nothing was up to snuff for him. Not satisfied that I finished the Romero Report early, he honed in on the one typo I had neglected to catch ‘Romreo’ instead of ‘Romero’. He said, “Instead of finishing so early why don’t you take the full time to examine your work, so it wouldn’t be so shoddy!”

Then on Wednesday he let loose on Melody. The coffee pot in his office was empty and he was certain that he had told her to cancel his 12 o’clock lunch appointment and where the hell were the copies that he asked for an hour ago? (Copies, which he never had asked for at all.) That afternoon Mr. Cromwell left feeling a bit under the weather.

On Thursday he came in late, irritable and sick. He seems to think he is obligated to make everyone as miserable as he is. Of course, most of us were all laughs and chuckles as he drug himself from his car to his office. Two hours later Melody called me on my extension in a panic. Mr. Cromwell had passed out face down on his desk and when Melody went to check on him he slumped from his chair and fell on the floor. She checked his pulse – he was dead.

I told her to hold on the line and I would call 911. In the middle of the call I heard a blood-curdling, the-world-is-ending scream from somewhere in the office. It was Melody’s scream. I dropped the phone and bolted for the boss’ office.

As I stepped through the doorway there was Mr. Cromwell struggling with my Melody sprawled out atop the desk. It looked as if the ‘dead’ man was trying to eat my sweet Melody. Fortunately, she had stuffed the phone receiver into his mouth like a bridle, holding his gaping maw back by pushing with both hands on the ear and mouth piece. His ‘dead’ weight was winning the battle and his mouth was drawing closer to my beautiful Melody.

Out of the corner of my eye I spied the paper cutter with the broken spring on the shelf behind Melody’s desk. How fortuitous that the one piece of equipment Mr. Tight Wad refused to replace due to budget was just what I needed.

I grabbed the blade’s handle and yanked it free from its base and charged the dead bastard. I made sure that even in my haste I didn’t bring that blade anywhere near my precious Melody as I slid the blunt end under Mr. Cromwell’s neck. Grabbing the broken end with my other hand, I pried Mr. Cromwell off Melody, neck first. I nearly fell on my back as I stumbled backwards, the dead man’s hands clawing at mine.

Free from the desk and safely away from my lovely Melody, I released my hand from the broken end of the paper cutter’s blade. I nearly froze as Mr. Cromwell turned to confront me with his milky dead eyes. What the hell was happening here? Without thinking, I took my free hand and, as my tennis instructor had taught me, firmly gripped the blade’s handle and used a two-handed back hand form to hack off the head of the ‘dead’ Mr. Cromwell.