Welcome to Max' Doggerel Zone

Kära Mormor,

Mormor, tack för allt du gett mig. Tack för en så stor del av min barndom. Tack också för förebilden mina barnaögon aldrig såg. Pålitlighet, ärlighet, nit, flit och oändlig generositet. När mina äldre ögon nu blickar ut bortom Dalälven ser jag att vår planet skulle vara ett bättre ställe om fler var som du.

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CEO

"But why?" She was on the verge of tears.

He leaned back in his black leather armchair and looked her in the eyes.

"The official reason is that we have to downsize our staff. But if you really want to know, the truth is that you're too ugly. You tarnish our corporate image."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. Then she got up with a swiftness that was surprising considering her formidable weight, took the brown envelope with her compensation and scuffled out of the room. She didn't tell the full truth even to her husband.

The next day, it was Günter's turn. He was called to Mr. Müller's office at 10am, and reemerged five minutes later, red in the face and clutching a brown envelope.

"The bastard!" You just can't treat people this way!" Nobody had really liked Günter, and rumor had it that he was gay. Still, nobody discussed sport in the lunchroom that day.

The third day, Müller sacked Mr. Keller, a chubby middle-aged salesman. The following day, two Turkish guest workers from the production department were laid off.

Indeed, Hartmann & Schmidt AG was never to become the same again after Müller took over. All the employees knew about him was that he was born in Zurich, got his MBA at Harvard, had the a degree of Captain in the army, was considered a rising star in the Swiss business world and had made a fortune on the stock market. After his corporate group had acquired the company from Ciba-Geigy, he had surprisingly made himself the CEO.

"He's a fascist." Wolfgang sounded certain.

Dietrich chuckled. With that skinny build and that short black hair, he actually looks a bit like..."

"C'mon, seriously. I mean, he eliminates the weakest ones and counts on the rest of us being too chicken to do anything about it."

"I don't buy that stuff." Dietrich sipped on his beer.

"His only ideology is money. He fires people to increase profits."

"No Dietrich, that doesn't make sense. If it was just about money, then why would he go out of his way to be so downright nasty?"

"Perhaps he's just a nasty guy?", Martin suggested from across the table.

Martin Schultz was hired fairly recently, and was one of the youngest in the marketing department. He had once had certain moral qualms about working for the company in the first place, but now he was rather enjoying it. He found his job stimulating and was quite pleased with his salary - until yesterday, when Müller had cut it by 20%. What had they done to deserve such a curse?

The next day, a group of ten presented themselves at Müller's office. Wolfgang, who was the head of the union local, explained that they would all quit in protest if Müller continued to fire people without first consulting the union.

"Great. Then please sign these." He had had letters of resignation prepared for all union members, with names and all, ready to be signed. Visibly surprised, all but one of them signed.

"Despite all this talk of solidarity, all that you guys really care about is your own skin. We don't need any bleeding heart liberal cowards here", Müller said while filling out a form. He put a packet of 200-Franc bills in an envelope and handed it to the tenth man.

"You're fired. At least you're less stupid than your nine colleagues here, who have just saved me nine compensation payments."

You could say whatever you wanted about the bastard, Martin thought to himself, but he certainly was clever. He seemed to have read every single line of fine print in the labor legislation.

The same afternoon, Müller went to his secretary's office and closed the door behind him.

"Irene, there's something I need to discuss with you."

She brushed her hair back with her hand.

"Yes?"

"It's about your job. We need to downsize our administration, and there are two options. Either you'll have to leave the company, or you'll get a pay raise in return for a slight extension of your office duties." He slowly walked around her desk and stopped behind her. "It depends on whether..."

He started playing with her long blonde hair, tentatively at first. Once it was clear that she wasn't protesting, he let his hands slide down onto her shoulders. She wore a thin white blouse with a rather deep cut, and he slowly began to massage her bare shoulders. She rapidly found herself in this new situation, but the next morning she found herself fired. "You're too bad in bed", was his only remark. She didn't even get a brown envelope - he knew exactly how far he could push people.

It was eerie how shrewd he was, Martin though to himself.

Six weeks after Müller took over as CEO, the number of employees had dropped from 206 to 120. He had sold all corporate cars and spun off both the corporate conference center and the four tennis courts. Furthermore, nobody seemed to have been fired in an amicable fashion. Some female employees had even been seen crying as they emerged from Müller's office.

Martin walked towards the lunchroom. He was furious, but what could he do? He had never realized how cowardly his colleagues were, but it seemed as though Müller had. They outdid each other in badmouthing him behind his back, but when push came to shove, they worked on as usual to save their own skin.

The topic of conversation over lunch was fresh gossip about Müller. Apparently, he had had a wife who had recently committed suicide.

"I can see why", Martin said.

She had apparently had manic-depressive tendencies and been a bit neurotic in recent years, but Müller had felt that she simply needed a family and some stability.

"Müller the Besserwisser... He could use some psychiatric treatment himself."

Müller's next step was to summon the head of marketing for a discussion about the company's exports.

"Isn't it the case that Africa provides 80% of our exports but only 20% of our profits, since the Africans lack payment capacity?"

"Ehrm, well, yes, I guess that would be a blunt way of putting it."

"So shouldn't we launch some of our best selling products in France, where there's a solid market? Neocomp, for instance?"

"I think that would be risky."

"Why? Haven't our studies shown that the risk of birth defects is minimal? Should Frenchmen be more susceptible than Africans?"

"Eh, no, of course not, but the legal system is troublesome in Western Europe. And Neocomp contains Thalidomide, as you know."

"But surely you can get around such legal technicalities?"

"Yes, but it it's more difficult in Europe, with the media constantly looking for petty stuff like this to blow out of proportion."

"So you don't want to go for France?"

"No, I'm afraid of losing my good reputation."

Müller leaned back in his chair and looked him in the eyes for a few seconds, tapping his forefinger against the mahogany desktop.

"You won't lose your reputation - only your job."

Ten weeks later, Hartmann & Schmidt AG had ceased to exist. The factory buildings had been sold to a firm manufacturing paints and a computer company now used the office suites.

Martin was one of the last to be laid off, and still hadn't found a new job. Which he had discovered to be easier said than done without a reference letter. He felt increasingly flustered as the days went by, and it finally got to the point that he drove out to Müller's villa, without quite knowing why.

The house was quite inconspicuous for belonging to a multi-millionaire, he thought to himself as he walked up the stairs to the front door and rang the doorbell. After quite a long wait, the door was opened by Müller himself.

"What do you want, Martin Schultz?"

" Most of all, I'd like to bash your brains out."

Müller didn't look particularly worried. "What's so strange about hurting people for money? You've been to Harvard yourself, haven't you?"

Müller was fairly short and far from muscular, and Martin really did feel a desire to punch him in the face.

"But you can't have done this just for money."

"What brings you to that conclusion?"

"Because it isn't profitable to crush your employees psychologically. You seemed to hate the whole company, with employees and all."

"And what if I did?"

"Then you're just as loony as your wife was."

Müller suddenly got a strange wild look in his eyes.

"Come here!"

He went inside.

"I'll introduce you to Andreas, my only child. He turned six months yesterday.

Martin hesitated for a moment before following Müller, who went on:

"I hated the company as a symbol for what has destroyed my life. And not just the company, but also you and all the other pathetic cowards who worked there. Who never had the guts to say no.

They continued into a bedroom where they were greeted by the cheerful blabber of a baby boy.

"My wife wasn't well during the pregnancy, and had to take tranquilizers."

Martin looked down into the little red cradle. Andreas had big brown eyes and a beautiful face. But he had neither arms nor legs.