… ‘fat end of the wedge’, it was…

…it all happened ‘way back in the late 70s, so the names of most of the parties, guilty and otherwise, will have melted into the shadows of yesteryear… nonetheless, I’ve changed the characters’ identities to protect myself and others from any recriminatory action, even at this distance in time… picture the scene… the ground floor banking hall of a prominent City Merchant Bank, at which for a time I plied my trade as a Trainee Master of the Financial Universe… across the marbled counter, on the ‘customer’ side of things, the superbly-mustachioed Geoffrey held sway as the custodian of all things commissionaire-ish for the Bank… he received mail, directed customers to the proper floor in the building, pertinent to whatever their business might entail… he knew all the visiting delivery messenger lads in the City, who dropped by at regular intervals with cheques, documents, and sundry mail from other financial institutions…   a retired military man of the ‘Old School’, he demonstrated the ‘strut’ to perfection as he husbanded his side of the banking hall…


…he was possessed of a booming bass voice, difficult to stifle, even amidst the hustle and bustle of a busy commercial foyer… Geoffrey’s tenure dated back longer than any of the rest of we fledgling upstart bankers, and he was not averse to pontification on matters, financial or otherwise of which he felt we should be aware… his pet subject always spun eventually to the matter of salaries, his in particular, and, every year, to the upcoming annual bonus payment… on this particular occasion, he advised us all that he felt in his opinion, the Bank had performed spectacularly in the current year, and the expected payment ‘would prob’ly exceed six months salary’… Lawd knows here he conjured his figures from… a couple of nameless rascals on our side of the counter devised a scheme to arrest his expectations… sum’where, sumb’dy acquired a few sheets of headed notepaper from the office of the Chief of Human Resources… a beautifully typed letter, signed with a splendid facsimile of the Chief’s own moniker was placed in an envelope addressed to our Geoffrey, and duly smuggled into the incoming mail batch… of course , we were all aware of the ploy, and when Geoffrey ultimately came across the missive with his name on it, the game began… contained in the letter in flowery business-ese was the explanation that as Geoffery was one of a few valued older employees who truly understood how the bank’s fortunes rose and fell occasionally, was asked to keep it confidential, but as a trusted officer would he kindly consider accepting a 25% pay cut and to forgo any bonus this year to help the bank out… the Board of Directors would be most grateful and would remember his selfless act the ensuing year… as we watched, the letter was put back in its envelope then taken out, replaced, taken out and read at least a dozen times… the steam began to grow… mutterings, some under his  breath, some resounding across the tiled walls, welled up… Geoffrey rose from his sentinal chair by the portals of the bank and brusquely called across for, emb’dy really, to watch the place for a while as he  ‘had an important matter to attend to’… and he disappeared into the lift, upstairs toward, we knew, the office of the Chief of Human Resources… Geoffrey deigned not to speak with any of us for a coupla weeks after that, as we all feigned complete innocence of any skulduggery… ‘fat end of the wedge it was’... now where did I place that facsimile signature book?… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!



Filed under Blether, Scribbling & Stuff

6 responses to “… ‘fat end of the wedge’, it was…

  1. I feel sorry for the Chief of H.R. I’m sure Geoffrey let him have it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Poor Geoffrey; what a shock. I’m sure the Chief of Human Resources wondered what hit him, and why, until he caught on. 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  3. That would have made an excellent You Tube video! It sounds as if he deserved it!

    Liked by 1 person

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