PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

1

In the early nineties, which was about the midway

point of my career as a corporate stooge, my

out-of-state files were handled by a third-party

administrative firm called Transcontinental RealRoad.

All of our business was handled by phone or fax:  the

amount of errors, misunderstanding, and misinformation

dissipated dramatically in Transcontinental's processes.

2

Because I did not like to deal with multiple representatives,

all of my accounts were handled by a single Transcontinental

employee, Gareth, whose name (I learned, soon) was Welsh,

like a whisper.  His efficiency was highly superior, and he

was rather adept at anticipating my logistical requests.  The

auctions which sold the vehicles on my corporate employer's

behalf reported to me that Gareth was both very personable and

very well aware of even the smallest details (tire pressures,

alternator belts, and paint jobs) that were parts of the

files, and provided potential for expensive repairs.  My

expense accounts were heavily scrutinized by the corporate

executives to whom I was responsible, and they kept a keen

eye for discrepancies, errors, and repetitive or avoidable

costs.  One day, when Gareth had taken a rare sick day, his

helper, who had been assigned to my accounts for the day,

told me---in an giggly aside on an as yet unmonitored

phone connection, that Gareth was exquisitely beautiful---

twenty years old, with nearly waist length hair, and the

body (beneath his "corporate casual" clothing) of a swimmer,

although he showed no inclination toward athletics.

3

After that, thankful for the as then still unmonitored

line, I was able to converse with Gareth on a variety of

topics---none of which were related to my many accounts, or

corporate stoogery.  The potential of being overheard by

passersby in our respective offices somewhat restricted the

enthusiasm of those personal communications between account

updates, especially because of the rife Homophobia that

actively haunted both of our vicinities (half a continent

separated us).  To assist Gareth as his first year

anniversary of corporate employment drew near, I sent, to

his supervisor, Robert, an elaborate commendatory letter,

listing the various ways Gareth's skills made my work both

easier and more successful; a commendation he had well earned.

4

Robert called me, early one morning before the actual

business of the day began, and he acknowledged the

letter I had sent regarding Gareth's work.  After the

official, supervisory discussion passed, Robert told

me of two of Gareth's repeatedly demonstrated habits on

those days when he worked my accounts exclusively:  he

did not wear his hair in a bound ponytail (as required by

corporate dress codes), and he took his shoes off for the

entire day.  He favored socks that were blue, gray or

brown, especially with argyle patterns.  Robert found this

odd, and asked if I had been aware of it---and I had not

been; but I advised Robert, in a voice that he later

described as "cold enough to turn a desert into an

"ice field," that Gareth's particular sartorial choices,

especially on the "shoes off" days, were not to be

reprimanded or even considered in evaluations of his

corporate performance.  Robert had provided me thought

material for many nights' fantasies, and I reciprocated by

ensuring that every qualified account of mine was

assigned to Transcontinental RealRoad.

StarSpared