THE ACCIDENTAL HOUSEGUEST

After a promising start, the day turned to rat shit. In fact, this became the worst day in Gerald Owen’s life. Worse days would follow in rapid succession, but the first really bad day is always the worst. The morning began just fine. It was Gerald’s thirty-second birthday. His devoted girlfriend, Valerie, woke him up early and made love to him. Traffic was light to work.

Business was good. Sales were up. Profits were achieving a new high, and Gerald just received the green light to make his Park Avenue software job board, WarmBodyJobs.com, public. WarmBodyJobs.com was created as a spoof on the recruiting industry. Gerald and his partner, Marty, had dreamed up the idea while under the influence of alcohol, to celebrate a four-year reunion.

They had been roommates at NYU, where Gerald, a Brit, had won an international scholarship designed for the best and brightest foreigners. Once they had shown their brilliance, they were seduced with a green card to stay and enrich America. Gerald had created leading-edge software to assist TopUSAJobs.com in becoming a leading cost-per-click job board on the Internet.

In contrast, Marty had used his marketing and financial acumen to promote several cryptocurrency startups. All of which went bankrupt. “You’re in the recruiting industry,” Marty said to Gerald. “I need to find a new job. Which job board would be best for me?” “That’s a tough one! All the boards proclaim that they provide the top leading-edge talent,

so I think you’re screwed.” Gerald joked. Playing along with Gerald’s insult, Marty lamented, whilst downing his fifth margarita. “Then who’s looking out for the ninety percent of the population who are just warm bodies?” “Well, for a laugh, I guess we could start a job board for losers.” Gerald suggested. “We just need a catchy name, such as WarmBodyJobs.com.

“Great name! We can promote it with such phrases as ‘Gotta pulse, we gotcha a job,’” Marty suggested, being the marketing genius. “Or” Gerald suggested after a few seconds, “Where second best is just too good.’” “Let’s do it!” Six months later, WarmBodyJobs.com was launched. It became a Cult hit on Facebook and Google. Within months, revenues were in the hundreds of thousands.

” Six years later, the company had grown to a staff of forty people, with revenue of $20 million Then the bad day happened! Not in keeping with its newfound image as a kinder and gentler organization, a small army of IRS officials, with the help of two FBI agents, paid a visit to the WarmBodyJobs offices. They knocked down the front door, even though it wasn’t locked, and marched en masse into the lavish reception area.

“No company is stupid enough to target candidates who have neither skills nor talent. In FBI parlance, this was referred to as “making an entrance.” Shirley, the receptionist, confronted them. She was an erotic-looking Black woman who had come a long way since her early career position as a stripper at the Black Pussycat nightclub in Jersey City. She was WarmBodyJobs’ first line of defense.

Nobody, but nobody entered the management office behind her without Shirley’s say-so. She was proud of her position here and had been working hard on her new image of respectability. Caught off guard by this unconventional arrival, she lost her composure and diction. “Where d’ju think yo’re goin’?” she asked with venom.

“The door was locked, ma’am,” asserted a tall man who had cop written all over his closely cropped head and stamped on his shiny black lace-up shoes. “I sure did, madam,” the cop replied politely. “Well, next time turn de fuckin’ handle and push, you dim-witted moron,” Shirley screamed. “Did you turn de handle and pull?” Shirley shouted at him.

At this point, the leader of the group stepped forward. “I’m Mr. Robinson from the Internal Revenue Service,” he said firmly and with authority, in the hopes of calming down the close-to-hysterical Shirley. He was a middle-aged career accountant, complete with a white shirt, boring tie, receding gray hair, glasses, and no apparent personality to speak of.

“An’ I’m suppose’ to be impress’ or somethin’?” said Shirley haughtily. “You di’n’t have to break down de fuckin’ doe. Comin’ in here like you ain’t got no home trainin.’ And look at dis damn mess you made all over mah office. I’m callin’ security!” “Read this warrant, ma’am,” ordered the tall man.

We’ve got a warrant to enter these premises,” explained Mr. Robinson as soon as he was able to get a word in edgewise. “Ex-cuuzze meee, not without ma say-so, you ain’t!” Shirley replied angrily, her head now moving from side to side, a sure sign that she was less than pleased by this intrusion. In their subsequent careers, they had mixed results.

“I ain’t readin’ shit! An’ I don’t care if you from de FBI, de DEA, or de HMO. I ain’t lettin’ you in until I aks our President, Mr. Owen.” With these words, Shirley sat back in her chair and began to file her nails, all the while staring defiantly and resolutely at her adversaries, who were now crowding out her ‘office.’

“Now listen, young lady!” hissed Agent Perkins, between his clenched teeth, displaying the darker side of his personality. “We’re just walking right on in, with or without your permission.” You wait right there until I ask Mr. Owen.” “I’m Agent Perkins from the FBI. This is a search warrant.” The Internal Revenue Service turned up.

“Now don’ even go there,” Shirley insisted, standing up and screaming right into his face. “Don’ fuck wif me. Not today. Don’ you go threatenin’ me, you scumbag-don’-know-how-to-dress-or-tie-a tie muthafucka. “And what de fuck’s wrong wit’ turnin’ de fuckin’ doe handle like any normal fuckin’ person?”

She then muttered aloud, “Knockin’ down de front doe! Shit! You people are gonna make me lose my professionalism. But don’ you even think about makin’me lose my job. I work too hard, and I need my job and you need some manners. Comin’ in here like….” A frown crossed his boyish, yet handsome features as the phone interrupted his concentration.

“All right, all right, already,” Agent Perkins conceded, in an effort to shut her up. He was slightly taken aback by this onslaught and started fidgeting with his tie. “Give your boss a call, but tell him we’re coming through, regardless.” Then she said to Gerald, “Mr. Gerry, I think you need to see them now. They been really rude to me.

It would make his dreary life a little more exciting. He pushed the unruly, longer-than-fashionable light-brown hair away from his deep brown eyes and lifted the phone on the third ring.Tell them to see Marty,” Gerald requested. He personally loathed the financial side of the business, which he left entirely to his trusted friend and partner, Marty. “He’ll know how to handle them.”

Shirley rang Gerald’s direct line. He was deep in thought, with his feet up on the desk in his usual pondering position. As always, he was casually dressed in his customary sweater, Dockers, and boating shoes. “Then how about Margarita?” Gerald suggested. “She knows all that accounting stuff. She can talk to them.”

“Oh, hello Shirley! What’s up?” “Gerry,” Shirley said calmly and politely, her composure and diction now almost intact. “I’ve got a bunch of people out here that say they’re from the IRS. They are here with a couple of plainclothes cops, and I do mean plain.” Deep down he preferred to shoot the door down.

“Tell them to see Marty,” Gerald requested. He personally loathed the financial side of the business, which he left entirely to his trusted friend and partner, Marty. “He’ll know how to handle them.” “Marty ain’t here.” She stared at Agent Perkins as she defiantly stressed the word ‘plain.’

“Then how about Margarita?” Gerald suggested. “She knows all that accounting stuff. She can talk to them. “Margarita ain’t, I mean isn’t, here neither. Mr. Gerry, these people have gotten me so worked up I can’t even talk right.” “Now don’ even go there,” Shirley insisted, standing up and screaming right into his face.

“That’s OK, Shirley, calm down,” said Gerald in his usual soft-spoken English accent. “Do me a favor. Ask them to make an appointment to see Marty at a more convenient time.” Shirley covered the phone and addressed the IRS army. “Do you guys want to come back at a more convenient time?” She answered her own question. “No! I guess not, eh? Di’n’t think so.”

She looked at the stone wall expression on Mr. Robinson’s face and noticed that Agent Perkins was unstrapping his gun holster. Then she said to Gerald, “Mr. Gerry, I think you need to see them now. They been really rude to me. They broke down the front door, and they’re eyeing the office door and security system with intent!”