Sound Advice

Sound Advice



         “No, I'm not a pirate.” Rodger Marshall said in a flat monotone.

         Morgan Dean's smile slipped a bit. He was unsure as to how he should respond.

         “Would you like to have a seat Mr. Dean?” Mr. Marshall asked.

         “Sure.” The two seated themselves. Mr. Marshall behind his desk and Mr. Dean in front of it.

         “Let's get down to business.” Mr. Marshall said as he pulled a folder out of a nearby filing cabinet.

         Mr. Marshall was a solid, steady man. His appearance, like everything else in his life, was orderly and well kept. His short cut hair wasn't flashy or eye catching, but required little maintenance, and he liked it that way. His suits were always dry cleaned and well pressed, and his ties impeccably knotted; his chin always clean shaven and his shoes perfectly polished. His near spotless office was so well organized that any person not totally lacking in common sense could easily find whatever they might be looking for. Indeed in the life of Rodger Marshall there was only one source of trouble. One evil seed from which grew all the hardships of his life. The black felt eye patch which covered his right eye.

         “I must say Mr. Dean I'm appalled at the state of your records” Mr. Marshall frowned as he opened the folder. “They are by far the most disorganized I have seen in all my years in accountancy.” Mr. Marshall did not like things that were disorganized.

         Mr. Dean however, seemed to like something at least. He could barely stop himself from giggling.

         “What is it?” Mr. Marshall demanded.

         “I'm sorry, for a second I thought you said 'all my years at sea.'” Mr. Dean coughed to clear his throat and straighted his face. “Please go on.”

         Mr. Marshall just nodded and continued talking. “After reviewing the information you gave me I believe I have found several ways for you to  save money and raise sales.”

         Mr. Dean barely restrained his laugh again. This time Mr, Marshall ignored him and kept talking.

         “First we must address a situation with some of your employees. You are a very loyal man Mr. Dean. Your workers know this and they work hard for you because of it. However not all of them deserve this loyalty. Mr. Bannon who manages your store on 5th street has given in to nepotism. His store is almost entirely staffed with members of his own family. This might be alright if they were all competent employees but alas that is not the case. The first thing you should do is serve notice to you company that things are going to change. Mr. Bannon and his family need to be let go.”

         “I understand what you are saying.” Mr. Dean replied. “But Mr. Bannon has been with my company for years, he is a good man, and the store is still profitable.”

         “Mr. Dean you must learn to accept these hard reports and fire the Bannons.”

         This time Mr. Dean could not hold back his laughter. Mr. Marshall raised one eyebrow (the left one). He said nothing but as the laughter continued his eyes slowly narrowed and his frown deepened.

         “Hard to port and fire the cannons.” Mr. Dean said as his only explanation for his outburst. His laughing fit having reduced him to the point where he could speak only intermittently.

         “Mr. Dean please! It is this lax, carefree attitude of yours that has allowed your once great business to fall into its' present situation. You must get a hold of yourself!”

         “You're right. I'm sorry. I apologize.” Mr. Dean took a deep breath, and calmed himself once again. “Please let's continue.”

         “Good. Now your biggest competitor is Barry Trey. He has steadily been taking over your market share, and his lower prices are the primary reason. What I propose is a reorganization of your company structure, distribution systems, and inventory management. If you do that, I conservatively estimate that you could lower your prices by up to 20%. This would make yours the lowest prices in town, plus you'd still have your reputation for great service. It would put you in a commanding market position. One Barry Trey sure'd care to be in.”

         Up until this point in his life Mr. Dean had never fallen out of his chair laughing. Up until this point.

         “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Mr. Dean said once his laughter had subsided enough for him to talk. “All I heard was buried treasure in the Caribbean.”

         “Mr. Dean,” Mr. Marshall said sternly, “Do you think that just because I have an eye patch that I should constantly be the butt of pirate jokes?”

         “No of course not.”

         “Must I always hear 'avast matey' shouted from cars as I walk down the street? When I go to a bar must I be given rum and hear 'Yo Ho Ho' shouted from every corner? And tell me Mr. Dean upon hearing that my name is Rodger, must I always hear the reply 'you must be jolly'?”

         “No, no certainly not.”

         “Because I hear all of that, all of the time, and frankly I am growing weary of it.”

         “Do the pirate jokes really upset you that much?” Mr. Dean asked no longer laughing, his brows now knitted, eyes intent on the man in front of him.

         “Yes, honestly they do.”

         “Then may I make one suggestion?”

         “Please do, if you think it will help.”

         Mr. Dean raised up one long finger and with it pointed over Mr. Marshall's right shoulder, then said, “Maybe you should lose the parrot.”