“Papa, aren’t you going to tell me a story?” Marian asked, after her father quickly kissed her on the forehead and began walking away, pretending he was going to turn out her bedroom light.
“Oh, I thought you didn’t want a story tonight.”
Marian’s father really knew that she did, though. She always did. He was just teasing her.
“What made you think that?” Marian asked, fake pouting, with her lower lip thrust forward, bugging out her eyes in disbelief, and slamming her arms down on her bedspread. “Of course I want a story.”
She stuck her lower lip out even further. So Marian’s father returned to her bedside, pulled up his chair, and said, “OK, then, Marian Aubrey: Which one do you want to hear this time?”
“Cinderella!”
“All right. Ready? Get comfortable.”
Marian pushed herself down further under her covers, laid her head back on her pillow, sighed contentedly, and said, “Ready!”
“OK. Cinderella lived somewhere, at some time, and worked for Madeworse Intergalatical. Although she was smart and talented, for reasons I won’t go into she toiled away at the lowest-paying job at that insanely profitable corporation.
“Others who worked there made a lot more money than she did, even though they didn’t work as hard, and oftentimes didn’t seem to really accomplish anything of practical value. But because they earned more, they looked down on Cinderella.
“Although the company was super rich, most of the money that was paid out in wages went to the highest ranking executives—especially to its founder and CEO, Luke Sugarmountain. The average worker, and especially Cinderella, had a very tough time making ends meet. Some even had to work two jobs in order to do so. And it recently came to light that their pension was not what they had been led to believe: instead of receiving 40 acres and a mule upon retirement, they got 40 acorns and a stool. The company claimed that this had been the agreement all along, and sure enough, when you looked at the pension plan details posted online, that’s what it now said.
“In order to minimize the damage to the company’s representation caused when a disgruntled retiree leaked this bait-and-switch to the press, Madeworse Intergalatical quickly arranged for a team-building exercise: There was to be a company-wide meeting at which each employee could have their fifteen seconds in the limelight, as long as they used it to make a statement about what they appreciated the most about working for the gigantic corporation.
“Attendance at this ‘team-building exercise’ was mandatory. So Cinderella, of course, attended, along with everyone else. She found when she got there, though, that if a person made a statement that was at all negative, somehow their microphone ceased to function: there would be a loud screeching, whistling and deep bass hum, and the usher took back the mic, ostensibly to fix the problem, but simply walked off with it. When this occurred, a man on the stage would write something down in a notebook while looking intently at the person who had tried to make the comment.
“The attendees were seated according to their rank in the company: high-level managers sat in the first few rows, middle managers took the next rows behind them, and so on; Cinderella and those at her level were in the very back of the auditorium.
“After several episodes of screeching mics—which always worked fine when the comments were positive, and these mostly came from the front rows—the MC of the program, Luke Sugarmountain himself, called for a break, and invited all to avail themselves of the refreshments that had generously been made available by the company. Attendees were to go to the tables nearest them. There was one table near the higher ups, another in the middle of the audience, and one in the back, near Cinderella’s seat.
“The table near the front of the hall had all sorts of expensive delicacies, the one in the middle had a variety of cheeses and crackers and apples, but the one at the back where Cinderella was only had one item: pumpkin bagels. Well, two items, if you count the pumpkin-flavored cream cheese that could be spread on the bagels with the easy-break plastic knives that were provided (the other tables had actual, literal, silverware).
“Each table was catered by a different vendor. The table in the back—the one near Cinderella’s seat—had a banner above it indicating who that vendor was. It said: Goldilox & the 3 Bagels. The sign indicated that three was the limit of how many bagels each person was allowed to take. Not knowing what the other tables were getting, Cinderella guessed (correctly) it was something better than the bagels she and her crowd were allowed. They didn’t even get anything to wash the bagels down with.
“In order to distract the audience from the rather awkward way the meeting had gone so far, two bears in cages were brought in and set up near the front of the auditorium where the upper-level managers were enjoying no-limit caviar, escargot, foie gras, lobster cocktail, Mimosas, and such.
“After a few too many hard beverages, some of the bigwigs started making fun of and trash-talking the bears, challenging them to come out of their cage and fight them. Some of the men were strutting in front of the cages, getting as close as they could while still—just barely (no pun intended)—out of reach of the bears’ claws.
“The bears didn’t know exactly what these idiots were saying, but they had a good idea based on their tone of voice and body language. The two captive bears, Ursa and Major, began with low growls and steely stares which soon intensified into loud roarings and pawing at the air through the bars of their cage. Finally, one of the men—a Vice President of something-or-other, in charge of marketing to toddlers, I think—began imitating the bears in their futile attempts to claw him, and then turned around and fake-mooned the bears.”
“Fake-mooned? What do you mean, Papa?”
“He bent over and, with his butt pointing toward the bears, pretended he was pulling down his pants.”
“Why? Did he have to go poo-poo?”
“Probably so, since he was full of it, but that’s not why he did it. It was his immature—and foolish—way of mocking the bears.”
“What happened then, Papa?”
“The rage of the bears was so great that they backed up to the rear of the cage and then, with a running start, threw all their weight against the door of their cage, and broke out.”
“What happened then?” wide-eyed Marian asked, who had bolted upright in her bed.
“The bears chased the 42 upper-management people out of the building, and then ate all the food at their table that they wanted—which wasn’t much, though, as they weren’t big on caviar and escargot and that sort of thing—but they did empty the punch bowl of Mimosas in a couple of gulps, and enjoyed that
“Everyone else in the building was scared of what the bears might do next. Everyone except Cinderella, that is. She took her three bagels, which she had liberally coated with the pumpkin-flavored cream cheese, and approached the bears. When they saw her, what do you think the bears did?”
“Ate her?”
“No. They liked Cinderella right from the start. They could tell she was a nice person. I don’t know how, but they could. Maybe it was by smell. Maybe it was the look on her face, or the way she walked. I don’t know, but they sat down on their rear ends and waited for her to come up to them.”
“Wasn’t she scared?”
“No, apparently not. She went up to Ursa and Major, showed them the three bagels, took a bite out of one of them to show them it was good, and gave each of them one.”
“Did the bears like the bagels?”
“Oh yes, they did. Bears love pumpkin. So Cinderella led her two new friends to Goldilox’s table, and they ate their fill of pumpkin bagels. There was no limit on bagels for bears. Even if there was, I don’t think anybody would have said anything about it.”
“Did the bears eat the cream cheese, too?”
“Yes, but not on the bagels—they ate the bagels without cream cheese first, then they topped off on the cream cheese by itself, licking the tubs clean.”
“Then what happened?”
“Cinderella, Goldilox, Ursa, and Major went away from there and lived happily ever after. The end.”
“That was a strange story, Papa!”
“It’s a strange world we live in, punkin. Don’t you think we need more people like Cinderella?”