After Monday's memo, Tuesday opened with Bosszilla on the rampage. He called a meeting with all the production managers and spent a good 45 minutes doing nothing but breathing nuclear fire and stomping on little model tanks. He even ate a train and wrecked a bridge.
I know, because I was sitting not 2 feet from the action, sort of like Raymond Burr, taking notes. No kidding. He asked me to take notes in the meeting. For a while I thought about typing in "RAWR! FUCKFUCK! RIPSHREDSTOMP! FUCKYOUALL! RAWGRAWG!" but since he could see my computer screen, I decided on "The plant is not clean enough to meet my standards" and let my hands hover over the keyboard the rest of the time. My back was to the conference table (my desk is in the corner facing the wall) so I could not see anyone else's reactions, and there was no way in HELL I was going to turn around. I didn't need to, really. I've seen the look before. After the fifh or sixth time, the terrified round eyes and explosion-blown hair aren't as funny.
After 45 minutes (I timed it) Bosszilla tired and subsided into actual conversation. He dismissed some of the managers and continued with an actual project meeting with the others. There were still a few sparks and flashes of light, but the walls did not shake nor the ground tremble. I took notes.
When this little adventure was ended and I ventured outside, people would stop me and say "What was THAT about?" In other words, Bosszilla could be heard through the sales office and, apparently, rumor went through the plant after the shellshocked faced of the managers released first were seen. No one really wants to know what it is about, though. It doesn't matter.
Today, Bosszilla came in on happy pills. He was singing, he was smiling, he was talking so fast he stumbled over his words. The receptionist and I speculated on whether illegal substances were involved. I think he just took a long walk on the bottom of the Sea of Japan until he felt better.