Mr. Fletcher’s Assignment
By: Michael Cottle
“Where does moss grow son?” Mr. Fletcher asked as he placed his bongos on his cluttered desk.
George didn’t follow. There was a lot he could learn from Mr. Fletcher, but sometimes the old man had curious angles. Mr. Fletcher grabbed him by the shoulder and walked him down the hall.
“On trees Mr. Fletcher?” George returned.
“Yeah, but which side son?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
“The North sir” George answered.
“You observe that, or was you told that?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
“That’s what I’ve heard” George said.
“Moss grows all over the trees!” Mr. Fletcher shouted at his young assistant. “North! South! Everywhere! Have you even been in the woods son? Ever?”
“No sir, not really” George said.
“My God, son. You need to get out there and see the world. You’ve been here too long, and mostly just playing with your thumbs like a dang fool!”
“Well, sir, there are month end reports and inventory adjustments” George insisted.
“Nonsense!” Mr. Fletcher shot back. “Listen here, I’m going to do you a favor. Do you understand son?”
“A favor? For me?” George was a little stunned.
Mr. Fletcher let go a belly laugh.
“That’s right. I like you. You remind me of my own son- that is if I had one. I’m sure he’d be a thumb-twiddler like you.” Mr. Fletcher continued speaking while he wheeled in a cart looking contraption into George’s office space. It had two electric motors with knobbed pulleys that lined up in opposition to each other.
“I don’t understand sir. What’s that?” George was as puzzled as a monkey gazing in a mirror.
“You’ll see” Mr. Fletcher said. “Here plug this in.”
George plugged the cord into the outlet and smoke started pouring out of the machine.
“Oh crap!” Mr. Fletcher gulped with a wee-bit of frustration. “Unplug it! Unplug it now!”
George yanked the cord from the wall socket, and soon, the smoke began to dissipate. “What happened?” George asked.
Mr. Fletcher grabbed his screwdriver from his pocket and begin to make some adjustments while assessing the damage. “Oh, nothing son. The hot wire just got a little too close to the ground. Nothing of concern.”
George peered over Mr. Fletcher’s shoulder, but he had no idea what he was looking at.
“That ought a do it” Mr. Fletcher assured his assistant. “Plug it back in, and let’s see what it’ll do.”
George plugged it back in, and the two motors begin to turn. The knobs on the pulleys rotated together in unison. “Mr. Fletcher, what is it?” George asked.
“Automation!” Mr. Fletcher said with thunder. “I want you to take the week off son, but don’t go home. I want you to see the world! Go for a walk in the woods. Go see where the damn moss actually grows! When you get back next week, you can unplug it and go back to your twiddling.”
“Yes sir!”
When George left his office, he left there smiling, and he could still hear the crazy old man banging on bongos. The beat was in perfect time with the thumb-twiddling machine and George’s last four years of much of the same.
By: Michael Cottle
“Where does moss grow son?” Mr. Fletcher asked as he placed his bongos on his cluttered desk.
George didn’t follow. There was a lot he could learn from Mr. Fletcher, but sometimes the old man had curious angles. Mr. Fletcher grabbed him by the shoulder and walked him down the hall.
“On trees Mr. Fletcher?” George returned.
“Yeah, but which side son?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
“The North sir” George answered.
“You observe that, or was you told that?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
“That’s what I’ve heard” George said.
“Moss grows all over the trees!” Mr. Fletcher shouted at his young assistant. “North! South! Everywhere! Have you even been in the woods son? Ever?”
“No sir, not really” George said.
“My God, son. You need to get out there and see the world. You’ve been here too long, and mostly just playing with your thumbs like a dang fool!”
“Well, sir, there are month end reports and inventory adjustments” George insisted.
“Nonsense!” Mr. Fletcher shot back. “Listen here, I’m going to do you a favor. Do you understand son?”
“A favor? For me?” George was a little stunned.
Mr. Fletcher let go a belly laugh.
“That’s right. I like you. You remind me of my own son- that is if I had one. I’m sure he’d be a thumb-twiddler like you.” Mr. Fletcher continued speaking while he wheeled in a cart looking contraption into George’s office space. It had two electric motors with knobbed pulleys that lined up in opposition to each other.
“I don’t understand sir. What’s that?” George was as puzzled as a monkey gazing in a mirror.
“You’ll see” Mr. Fletcher said. “Here plug this in.”
George plugged the cord into the outlet and smoke started pouring out of the machine.
“Oh crap!” Mr. Fletcher gulped with a wee-bit of frustration. “Unplug it! Unplug it now!”
George yanked the cord from the wall socket, and soon, the smoke began to dissipate. “What happened?” George asked.
Mr. Fletcher grabbed his screwdriver from his pocket and begin to make some adjustments while assessing the damage. “Oh, nothing son. The hot wire just got a little too close to the ground. Nothing of concern.”
George peered over Mr. Fletcher’s shoulder, but he had no idea what he was looking at.
“That ought a do it” Mr. Fletcher assured his assistant. “Plug it back in, and let’s see what it’ll do.”
George plugged it back in, and the two motors begin to turn. The knobs on the pulleys rotated together in unison. “Mr. Fletcher, what is it?” George asked.
“Automation!” Mr. Fletcher said with thunder. “I want you to take the week off son, but don’t go home. I want you to see the world! Go for a walk in the woods. Go see where the damn moss actually grows! When you get back next week, you can unplug it and go back to your twiddling.”
“Yes sir!”
When George left his office, he left there smiling, and he could still hear the crazy old man banging on bongos. The beat was in perfect time with the thumb-twiddling machine and George’s last four years of much of the same.