Floyd Kelly

Management’s “top-notch” boardroom was four levels beneath the New York City streets and smelled faintly of a locker room.

My motivational prank—a Frappuccino poured into the coffee maker—had its intended twitchy effect. The resulting sludge made everyone vibrate in their seats, wide-eyed and shaking, but that wasn’t the funniest thing in the room. In the corner, a giant, green inflatable air dancer, the kind you’d see at a car dealership, flailed in a non-existent breeze.

“What’s with the dude in the corner?” I asked Jackie.

She sighed. “That’s Dan. Ignore him. Supposedly he’s here to sell our new line of sponges.”

“Performance art? Here?”

“He represents how our product stands out in a crowded market,” she mumbled into a yawn, completely unimpressed.

I stared. “By waving? Jackie, we make kitchen sponges.”

Dan was committed, his nylon arms flapping as if the company’s fate depended on it.

Then our CEO burst in, wild-eyed and smelling of Old Spice. “Good morning!” he beamed. “Here at Grabby Sponges, we pride ourselves on being very sponge like!” He clicked a mouse, and the Xanadu soundtrack blasted, obliterating the mood. My coworkers suddenly went crazy, ripping open the donut box and sending a few donuts sailing through the air.

Glowing, our CEO pointed to the PowerPoint presentation. “Market domination! But first—” he squinted, “—where’s ‘Sponge Care for Dummies’? I told you all to read it!”

Frank yelled over the music and caught a donut, “We don’t read books, it’s all online dude!”

Our CEO’s face turned beet red. “Frank! No sponges for you!” Jackie gasped, crumbling her donut. Dan kept his happy rhythm while Brenda from accounting balanced an eclair on her head.

The music stopped. Our CEO’s smile vanished. “Fine,” he said, “You don’t want to read? Then you don’t want to work here. Anyone without ‘Sponge Care for Dummies’ on their desk Monday is fired.”

He added, “And if you need income after that, my advice is to find a freshly mopped floor, fake a fall, and get a good lawyer. You clearly don’t want to earn your money here!”

The party was over. In the dead silence, Dan’s frantic waving slowed for the first time, his noodle arms drooping. The mindless motion ceased, leaving only a long, slow sigh from inside his nylon costume: “I have to go pee.”