XVI – THE TRIUMVIRATE

A minor set back

We are The Triumvirate! Times may have changed, yet we are still The Triumvirate! Yes, we have suffered a tremendous attack on our inner structure, but that is just a minor set back. Soon, very soon, we'll be able to regain the power that once was ours! The power that made our opponents tremble with

“Clean up on aisle 3!”

We'll finish our motivational speech later. For now we must go mop the floor because some clumsy customer has dropped something. Again.

We will continue our story on the way. Come.

We are no longer in Africa, in case you haven't noticed. Like every other character in this silly series, we are also in Blue Cove. There are several good reasons for this to be. The first, not being the most important, is that since Blue Cove doesn't exist, it excludes the author from doing a very thorough research (on that matter we must say we objected very firmly against this whole idea, not because it isn't funny, but because it is silly and we don't appreciate silliness); the second is that, like The Centre, we were also kicked out from our place.

We stop momentarily, clenching our fists tightly around our mop, and vow to exact revenge on those responsible for this predicament. Being the head of a secret criminal organization, we had more pressing matters to attend than worrying about the bills.

Needless to say, when the time came to ask for a responsibility, no one was to blame. Before we had a chance to interview our subordinates more thoroughly by way of torture, we were on our way to America.

We better hurry or the boss will not be pleased.

We are doing our beast to keep a low profile. Now that we no longer possess the strength we used to have, it is unwise to start a battle. Best to do now is wait.

Mr. Parker is here as well. We were already here when he told you his story. Probably the only reason why he didn't mention us was he because we doesn't know who we are. We took charge when he was presumed dead. In fact, since no official presentation was made when we assumed power, no one at The Centre knows about us. Which is excellent. We are too tired of The Centre and all the trouble it has caused us.

~*~

We arrive at aisle 3 and sigh. We understand that some could see the beheading of ones' enemies as a violent action. And it is. It is violent, but it is also a matter of retribution and justice. We cut off their heads, they skin us alive – it is savage and ruthless, but it has a valid point.

Spilling an entire row of olive oil bottles doesn't have any purpose. It is people being mean for the sake of being mean. Of all the liquids that could have been spilled! This disrespect will be dealt with fiercely!

“Are you done with that?”

We turn around and see the store manager. “We are almost done, sir.”

“What's taking so long?” he asks impatiently.

“It's the olive oil, sir.”

“Get moving. I need you to go to the complaints department.”

He leaves without waiting for us to acquiesce his request. What an insolence! He should be skinned alive AND beheaded!

Not being in a position to refuse doing what we are told to do is becoming more and more frustrating. We had never been assigned to the complaints department, but we had heard disturbing accounts from some of our colleagues.

The concept of allowing the clients to complain about the items they've purchased does not make any sense to us. People should learn from their mistakes, not be allowed to complain about it. The whole thing sounds so unreasonable it is probably another stupid idea from the author. Like the rainbow bridge or the flamingos wearing green tuxedos. You can thank us for not seeing those, although we regret to admit that the idea of the waitress wearing the vest over her uniform, in Mr. White's story, was ours. We apologize for that.

~*~

We expect the so-called unhappy customers to place their complaints in a calm and civilized manner. We soon discover that will not be the case.

Our first complainer is a short man with a hat made of hair.

It's a wig. And you're not supposed to stare.

We apologize. We are not familiar with such items.

Back to the client, he remind us of aunt Kanene, minus the mustache, which the client doesn't have.

“I wanna complain!”

“May we ask what is the reason of your complaint?”

“I bought of pack of batteries here yesterday and they all out of juice!”

“Excuse me! I need to cash this coupon!” says an old lady with a mole shaped like Jupiter and almost as big.

We turn to her and say: “Just a second, please.” Back to the customer. “Have you used the batteries?”

“Yeah! Yesterday! All day long, and now they don't work!”

“We are sorry for your misfortune, but there is nothing we can do. Next, please!”

“I want to cash this coupon,” says the old lady once more.

“You need to go to the coupons department, miss,” we answer, pointing at the correct direction. “It's right over there. Next!”

“That's too far away!” she complains.

“We understand, but we are unable to do otherwise.”

A tall, slender woman approaches us. “Miss Parker! What a surprise!”

“I'm not her, I'm her double.”

“Our apologies. How may we help you?”

“Who's that “we” you're talking?” she asks.

“Hey! What about my batteries?”

“I don't understand why you won't cash my coupon.”

“Miss, we...”

“Can I get some service here or not?”

“We'll be right there, Miss Pa- Sorry, Miss Double.”

“There's that “we” again.”

“Shut up! Shut up! All of you just shut up!”

~*~

“I have here a list of complaints,” says our boss with a not happy face. “All of them with your name on it.” He deposits the thick stack on his desk and waits for a response from us.

Now he waits.

“You told us to go to the complaints department and we did.”

“To deal with complaints, not cause them!” he says, punching the stack. Taking a long breath, he reclines on his chair. “I have no choice but to let you go.”

“All three of us, sir?”

“What are you talking about? I only see one of you. Wait a second! Was that an attempt to invoke that Monty Python joke about the mountaineering expedition or are you just so arrogant that you refer to yourself in the first person of the plural?”

“We do not understand the question.”

“Oh, you're no fun anymore! Please leave.”

“We ask you to reconsider.”

“This is not a democracy!” he yells out, pounding on his desk.

“Our predecessor used to say that.”

“I know. I googled him. Now, get the hell out!”

Just another set back. We must be patient and wait for the tides to

“Hey! I told you to get the hell out, not to stand there and reminisce about future plans!”

“Sorry, sir!” we reply, before leaving the office.

THE END