No Office for Old Men

FADE IN:

EXTERIOR:  OFFICE PARK     MORNING

Sun rising over landscaped office park. Sprinklers
raise a mist in the golden light. The voice
of an old man:


                    Voice Over

        I was manager of this office when I was
        twenty-five. Hard to believe. Grandfather
        was management. Father too. Me and him was
        managers at the same time, him up in Peoria
        and me down here. I think he was pretty proud
        of that. I know I was.


We dissolve to another view of the park.
No people, or movement.


        Some of the old-time managers never even
        used out-sourced labor. A lot of folks
        find that hard to believe.

                                   
We dissolve through differing views of cube farms
and interior office environs all empty, some
with the lights out.


        I always liked to hear about the old-
        timers. Never missed a chance to do so.
        You can’t help but compare yourself against the
        old timers. Can’t help but wonder how they
        would’ve operated these times.


CLOSE-UP a RED Swingline stapler.


        The kind of dimwitted slackers apply for work
        today, it’s hard to even take its measure.


Camera pans up to reveal a chubby man sitting
at the desk: Milton Waddams.

MILTON is muttering under the Voice Over.


        I always knew you had to be a complete bastard
        to even do this job. But I don’t want to push my
        chips forward and find I downsized the wrong
        character.

        You could say it’s my job to destroy the souls of
        these cube muppets but I don’t even want to know
        what falls out when you tip the wrong HR jacket.

                       MILTON

        mutter mutter I’ll burn the place down is
        what I’ll do.

(Written around 2012.)