December 1, 2010

The Adventures of Cr. X, Part III

Chicorp was founded by a dirty mic and some drunken Bulgarian as a bet. Their benefactor put up the money and initial staff to see if a poultry farm could be run by some sauced up ethnics. The first act of McDrunk and Sloshedovski was to create a corporate atmosphere of wild inhibition fueled by hooch. Before the whole project burst into above proof flames, Chicorp had garnered the attention of former genius executives that had preferred to do business the old fashioned way.  Liquid brunches, weekday benders in Kansas City and pub board meetings, had stalled the blooming careers of Chicorp’s future executives.  After the forced retirement of the working class heroes, Chicorp’s board moved quickly to inhibit labor while still maintaining the workers buzz.

The longer one stayed with the company the more he advanced. To be hired one had to prove that he had been either jailed or fired for drinking on the job. That proof usually consisted of a hand written note on a cocktail napkin that read, “You’re fired! – Boss,” breath mints and a pair of large sunglasses.  The entry level position at Chicorp was customer service and retail. The rookies could drink, but any asshole can drink, not everyone can drink and remain an active member of society.  The mean drunks were sent to the call center to even them out. The far too happy black outs stocked the shelves and cooked. If you were one of the few socialized drinkers you could run the register or wait tables. It was a true boy’s club at Chicorp, but that was only to protect women. Can you imagine hundreds of drunken men and women all working together? First, nothing would get done and second, Chicorp didn’t want any women to be molested or worse.

After six months if a candidate had proven that he was an upstanding employee and could stand upright, a random breathalyzer test would be administered, usually not before lunch on a Tuesday. There, depending on the results, the candidate would move to slop pushing straight away or become, “one of those guys that cleans up all the shit around here.” In a company run by drunks creative job titles for the lower tiers never mattered much. It wasn’t until you became a ‘regulator’ (foreman) that the titles became interesting.  The Chief Financial Officer was called Mr. Moneybags. The Chief Executive Officer retained the moniker Dirty Mic, to remind its bearer the history that accompanies his position.  The list goes on; it really isn’t too exciting after Dirty Mic. 

Read the beginning of the series after the jump: 

Part I & II

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