The Bouate in beer
ERIC VINCENT
THE BOUATE IN BEER
© Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.
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The Bouate in beer
Web : http://ericvincent.no-ip.org/
© Eric Vincent 2007-2009. All rights reserved. All resemblance with situations or characters having existed, existing or to come, would be fortuitous.
© Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.
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The Bouate in beer
EPISODE 11: A 180 DEGREES TURN
Invited by Salima Choukrane, the delicious, straightforward and rebel direction assistant, Edmond Bois-Joli de la Hussarde sat down on the waiting lounge sofa close to Tristan de Bazincourt de Hauteville’ office. Dominique Pesca left the boss's office, accompanied of the marketing members. The monthly meeting on the sale forecasts, putting face-to-face the marketors and the logisticians, ended on a global agreement, a cordial understanding on the quantities: a true feat. Henceforth, Diane Letellier, the manager of the logistics, trusted him and gave him these more perilous tasks. Her right, experienced, gifted arm was now hardened to the methods and low tricks of the Bouate employees. With tact but firmness, he won the most targeted forecasting from the thinking heads of the enterprise, the slaves of the marketing services. He greeted the new patient on the mauve sofa. This last answered him with a large smile. Tristan opened the door and invited the unknown to follow him in his office. Dominique decided to stop at Salima’s office. He never sacrificed to his daily custom. He appreciated this young woman. She had got a whole, rebel temperament, a suntanned skin, the result of the generations having preceded her in the south of Morocco. She had got ebony eyes, a gluttonous mouth, curly and brilliant hair, enough shining to make all wigmakers become pale. Despite his regular visits, the pretty girl seemed insensible, untouchable. Her huge beauty made her inaccessible to a helper logistician, or even to a French extraction, as she liked to remind it, her religion forbidding her all relation with a non Moslem. She was promised surely since her birth to any aged party, from a good family, intended to assured her a future without worry. Dominique knocked on the half-opened door. - Hello Salima. - Hello Dominique. Come in, the boss is occupied. - Who is the man in his office? - Edmond Bois-Joli de la Hussarde, the new Human Resources Director. - Ah! He drags a reputation of stuck, of bigot and specialist of recruitment bloopers. - It is not a rumor; I can assure it to you. I saw deadly e-mails, coming from the place where he worked before. But he is the nephew of Madam Rombière. The boss should accept all his caprices, all his whims. - What kind? - Oh, a plasma screen in his office to watch résumés of candidates or formation plans printed on glossy 300 grams paper, bound with leather, distributed to all managers or some communication seminaries organized in Relays and Castles, with lunches and dinners in three stars restaurants. Dominique satirized: - He will get on with Hervé Prévert. - You joke! The management control will fall violently on him but he has got so much money that he is able to pay from his own pocket, if mister "No" refuses his costs and investments. © Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.
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The Bouate in beer
- Full of cash? - Yes, he is the heir of an extremely rich family from Bordeaux. He possesses very numerous big vintages, agricultural grounds, buildings, stock-options, actions, liquidities, castles, Masters painting and heaps of baubles. Dominique kidded: - A good match! You are unmarried, he is the ideal husband! - If he was Moslem, yes. But it is not the case and it is not my guy's style. - Ah well… Dominique saw her to plunge the look on the screen of her computer, a melody betraying the arrival of an electronic mail. It emanated from Tristan: he asked her to verify the Eric Couillon’ planning and to convene him, as quick as possible (it meant: immediately if he faced a huge viral attack or if he achieved a complete computer lifesaving of the Bouate). She executed while saying a simple: - Sorry, Dom, I have an emergency! Bye! - Bye! He left the office with regret. He liked the voice tinted of cordial accent of Salima, consequences of her frequent stays in her original country, her face brightened by an enamel diamond’ smile, her smoldering eyes. He went back to the eighteenth floor, direction his office, to compile his sale forecasts in an affective and ultra powerful software deprived of defect (dream is permitted, isn’t?). *** The programmer came in the big boss office clothed with a black suit, a white shirt with a Mao collar and shod of his nickel chromium moccasins. His hair was brushed, his hands manicured, his teeth whitened with a high-pressure cleaner (a Kärcher, of course!), his eyebrows cleared. Tristan, endowed with the dirty craze to swing on his rolling chair, was close to leave backwards when he discovered his favorite bit maniac. He was transfigured because his face, usually pimply, had lost a major part of its "juvenile" acne (Eric had always had a child's soul). - Hello Tristan. Did you want to see me? - Yes, Eric. I introduce you Edmond Bois-Joli de la Hussarde, our new human resources director. - Delighted, the boss of the data processing released. - Me too, the nephew of you know who, answered. My aunt spoke me about you, she praised me your merits in the lifesaving of our head office after the fire, last year. - Really? Eric was astonished that the Rombière knew his name because she only frequented people of the High Society and because he was only a beggar; worse, with a non advantageous patronymic. © Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.
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The Bouate in beer
- Well, I did my job, that’s all. - Your "job?" - My work. - Ah! Absolutely not! You accomplished some miracles, you deserve some praises. Tristan stopped the soft soap: - About miracles, Eric, could you program a video intervention of Edmond on all computers of the Bouate for the beginning of afternoon? Edmond doesn't wish to start a tour of presentation today; he will meet the staff subsequently during individual interviews. He would like to announce his arrival to the employees by this modern way and Gonzague Aymé de Mirande believes he revolutionizes the communication mode. What do you think about it? - Live or prerecorded? - I beg your pardon? - Your intervention: will you achieve it in live or do you want to record it previously and to distribute it at a precise hour, on all computers, forwarded over all running software? - Live, please. - I know that you are overbooked, Eric… Tristan started. If you are not able to… - I’ll deal with your broadcast. Will your babbles be ready at 14H30? - My babbles? What is this therefore? - Your letter, your speech. - Ah… Naturally. I refined it since weeks. - Here we go! Eric said while slipping away without waiting more. Bye, bye, the brains! As the door was closed, Edmond couldn’t stop from admitting: - Ye gods! From where does this lunatic come? His language augurs origins of a faraway French colony but which one? Tristan tried not to explode of laugh when he said: - The Seine Saint-Denis. - Ah… This enigmatic "Ah" resounded in the mind of the big boss like a confession of impotence to localize this department from the Ile-de-France. He rose and invited Edmond to join his perch from where this one-eyed eagle could melt, Tristan hoped for it without believing, the juiciest CV. *** As promised, Eric Couillon had achieved a small miracle in hardly some hours. He had tinkered a television studio within the office of the H.R.D., with the help of a video camera rented at Kikloutou, with an external micro borrowed to Estelle Delfossé, a radio coordinator never leaving her home without what to achieve an appetizing interview and with two old halogens eradicated from the junk cellar by Patrick Gencive. With a recycled © Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.
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The Bouate in beer
server and a software downloaded on the web, validate during thirty days, to compress the hit-on-the-fly video and to accommodate it with the data networking pass-band, he held his solution. At the end of morning, an important appointment had fit in the diaries of the employees, from Tristan the big boss to the small hands of the other floors, as those of Mélanie Bond. The procedure of her new toy disconcerted her somewhat: she imagined him like a technophobic person. Evidently, no! However, while speaking in a direct manner to the "Bouatien" people, Edmond leveled the delivered information. And the info, Mélanie hoped for it crusty. At 14H30 hit, the employees nailed on their Word, Excel and other Powerpoint, hung to their production schedule, orders management or accounting software, saw their works transferred in background instead of an unique animated picture: the face of Edmond Bois-Joli de la Hussarde, somewhat blushed, or even singed by one thousand watts of light sent to illuminate him from every angle. He started his hand way written speech while reading it, nearly while mumbling it, like General de Gaulle did it at the time of his catastrophic first broadcast interventions: - Colleagues, colleagues! It is with an immense honor and a total surprise that I join today the head office of the Bouate as Director of the Human Resources. To this function, I am going to add some others. Behind his desk, Tristan became pale. It was not foreseen in the program. At the fourteenth floor, Mélanie Jump stretched the ear with certain jubilation. Edmond carried on: - I will be proudly the defender of the honest upright zealous salaried employees who have blameless morality and who defend the colors and the banner of the Bouate. Among others things, I will fight against the sexual and moral harassments by all means put to my disposition, I will sweep the dishonest practices, I will also prohibit the libidinous orgies in the offices and other recesses of our head office to make it a High Place of the morality and the faith in our mission. No more sex at office? Maeva and Delphine, fondling themselves their respective apricots, in the girl toilets, swallowed their juices amiss and believed to choke themselves while hearing the declaration of war of the H.R.D., voiced in the whole audio system of the Bouate, at all floors. This guy was the reincarnation of Big Brother! Edmond didn't stop his good path: - The morality offenders will be hunted like Jesus by the merchants of the temple, sent back by force without other care that a duly motivated return letter, I will verify with the energy of the despair, the set of the layoffs undertaken by my predecessor in order to assure that no one was abusive. If I can speak with a youngster language, I will be the cantor of the "right attitude." In the following days, Victoire de la Chennevrière, my assistant, will fix you individual appointments because I absolutely want to meet you all, without any exception, in order to discover you, to know your waiting and to exchange with the most perfect courtesy. Colleagues, colleagues, I understood you! I wish you a very pleasant end of day. My distinguished greetings!
© Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.
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The Bouate in beer
Behind their screens, the users were shared in several ethnic groups. The "dead of laugh" constituted a large fringe of the "Bouatienne" population. The "I have nothing to do with this dunce, the H.R.D are fuses created to fart, we will see some others" embodied a non negligible portion. The "Shit, this idiot is able to fire us if we leave the toilets with the open fly" were minority but flipped to death. Mélanie filled an unique category: the "Terrific! He is going to do the god-awful mess!" With the help of her Braille keyboard, she had activated a screen and video capture software. She had recorded the broadcast to send it to Gary Olsen, as proof of the success of her early maneuvering but also to listen it in buckle, in the event she would discover, hidden behind the words, the forerunner sign of a cataclysm she hoped comparable with Armageddon! She drove the 3.5 card hub of her audio helmet, in order to not to fill the office of decibels in buckle, susceptible to stir the curiosity of a neighboring office colleagues. She pressed the triangle symbol which summit stretched toward the right, either the "Play" button. She listened and listened again the message repeatedly. And suddenly, it made tilt in her mind. A rumor had spread on one of the salaried employees of which departure, a constrained and forced resignation for calumnies towards colleagues, had come true with the concerned person's scandal. A departure with the indifference because the whole staff didn’t appreciate this small filthy person as much devoured by ambition as he threw his gall on all those cluttering his flower-beds. Olivier Pascalli. "Yes!" The spy exulted without betraying the least outside emotion. "I must verify he became what I hope for! If it is the case, Edmond and Tristan will cry millions of Euros. " - Hello Mélanie! A voice said behind her. So, are you free this weekend for a quick fuck at Deauville? It was Eduardo Picolini, the Italian macho. He had some pimpernel to make himself with all videos showing him in action at all floors of the Bouate with every person wearing mini-skirt and a G-string. Without losing her self-control, the C.I.A. agent demonstrated him that if he was an ace of the "penis", she was an ace of "tennis" while serving him a winning return concluding the game and the set by a biting 6-0: - Not more this weekend that the precedent and that the next one, asshole! The concerned person released a very resonant "chick" and left with his tail between the legs. Mélanie was never content with a gained set. She wanted to win the match. And a Machiavellian idea germinated in her superior and demonic mind. She held the means to get rid of this man endowed, alas, of excellent capacities of purchaser and negotiator. "After all… Why not!" She thought. ***
© Eric VINCENT. All rights reserved.
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