Haven’t you been anywhere?
Meetings with the Allreds are very strained these days, partially because of the “Your owner is mad” notes that keep getting pushed under my office door, partially because of you can talk till you’re blue in the face to Brother Allred about all sorts of team problems & deficiencies and he doesn’t seem to take anything in anymore and partially because of . . . The Map.
That bloody map of Interstate 10 seems to have taken on a life of its own. It wandered round the boardroom table for weeks and now it appears to have embarked on an epic journey. It’s arrived in a rather dishevelled & dogeared state in its new home on the boardroom wall, covered in multi-coloured Post-Its, pins and string stretching from on pinned point to another. I can’t make head nor tail of it but Brother Allred seems to spend all his days stood staring at it. He seems to know what all the things and colours mean and moves them round like some grand strategic battle plan of manoeuvres. It looks to me as if his grand Wichita church army might be invading America along the I-10, but I’m sure that’s not really what the Allreds are intending.
When I enter the boardroom today it’s no surprise to find him over in the far corner staring intently at “The Map” with “The Book” in hand and no, it’s no longer the old bible anymore that’s well thumbed in his hands, it’s “Travels along Interstate 10” that is the reading material of choice. Hearing me enter he distractedly looks round and then returns to his pondering. I shuffle over and await his attention.
Without turning around, he asks me if I’ve ever been to Houston? What’s it like? Are the people religious? Will they fill the collection plate? How bribeable are the officials? I shrug and say, “never been there”. He tuts and says what about Santa Monica? Again, I have to answer in the negative. Now the air is like static with his displeasure, “How about Tucson, or El Paso?”. Once more I’ve never been to those places either. Finally, he whirls round and almost barks at me, “What do I pay you for? I need to know these things. Haven’t you been anywhere?”
I roll my eyes and inform him, “Well, I’ve managed in Atlantic City, Brooklyn, Baltimore, Chicago, Louisville, Omaha, Phoenix, Cairo, London, Brussels . . . oh, and Wichita. He just shakes his head and tells me, “You know, you’re a real Frick League kinda guy. I don’t need to talk to you today”
He waves his hand in dismissal and standing outside the boardroom again I begin to wonder whether those “Your Owner is Mad” emails don’t really mean that Brother Allred is angry?