Lots of people will tell you that they have the worst boss in the world and some of them may make compelling arguments. They have the boss that yells at them for insignificant things, or the one who steals the credit for their work, or the one who makes them work night and day for very little pay. But I bet none of their bosses have ever asked them for help burying a body. For that reason alone, I think I deserve to wear the I Have The Worst Boss in the World Crown.
It was a Thursday night and I was the only one still working when Barry walked into my office.
“Rick, are you busy?” my boss of five years asked.
“No busier than usual,” I replied.
“Great, come with me. I need your help with something.”
I thought that maybe he was going to ask me to carry a box of paper down to his office, but he had me follow him out to the parking lot. He took out his car keys, pushed the button that opens the trunk, and then motioned towards it with his head.
“This is what I need your help with,” he said.
Being the naïve fool that I am, I still expected to see a box of paper waiting for me inside the trunk, but it wasn’t a box of paper. It was a body.
“Oh my God!” I shouted. Is that Linda?”
“Yes, yes it is,” he said. “Now keep your voice down.”
“Is she dead?” I asked more quietly.
“No, she’s taking a nap in the trunk of my Mercedes. Of course she’s dead!”
“What happened?” I then asked.
He just looked at me with a ‘Rick, everyone knows that a person only ends up in the trunk of a car if they’ve been murdered. Jeez, next you’ll be asking me if I did it’ expression on his face.
“Why, Barry? Why did you kill her?”
“Does it matter?”
“Um…I think it kind of does,” I said.
“Whether I killed her for Reason A or Reason B, I’m still going to need helping getting rid of her body.”
“Well I’m not helping you,” I told him. “I’m calling the cops.”
“No you’re not,” he said rather confidently, I thought, for someone about to be ratted out to the police. “If what I did gets out, not only will it ruin the company, it will put our national security at risk.”
“Barry, we manufacture party balloons. What could that possibly have to do with national security?”
Again he gave me one of his ‘Jesus, you’re a stupid child’ looks and then said, “Rick, you can either help me and get that promotion you’ve been sucking up to me for, or you can let this get out and go to prison.”
“Why would I go to prison? You killed her.”
“Did I, Rick? Maybe I’ll say you did it. When it comes to our nation’s security, I’m willing to say and do anything. So what’s it going to be?”
Long story short: I’m now in charge of our helium division, Linda’s body was never found, and I now have the President’s number on speed dial, and I’m free to call him anytime. Whether that’s the President of my company or the President of our country, I’ll let you mull that over. I’m not saying anything else – for reasons of national security.