back in the good old days before nurse myra knew of the Gimcrack’s existence, she used to work in the crazy world of fashion. The whipcracker at this establishment was Tree, a cocaine-fuelled casanova with a not very bright but volatile wife and a girlfriend whose husband was currently serving gaol time for murder. Tree liked to live on the edge.
we shared an office which was little more than a den of iniquity strewn with the accoutrements of drug taking and disciplinarian sex. It was almost as much fun as working at the Gimcrack but with the added thrill of the medications being illegal. Tree employed enough abstemious staff to keep the business up and running between his bouts of activity and rehab but it was quite a challenge when he was at his most out of control.
back in the days when people didn’t know or care that their high fashion garments were produced by badly paid sweat shop workers, Tree outsourced manufacturing to three or four canny asians who constantly undercut each other’s tenders in a desperate bid for contracts. Tree was a late payer who used a variety of excuses to avoid parting with cash until weeks past the agreed date, mostly because all the cash he had was going up his nose or into the hands of his various women.
the day of reckoning was always going to come, it was just a matter of when. Mr. Chin was getting tired of the same old excuses and had taken to camping outside the showroom door during Tree’s absence so as to be first in line if he was cashed up. this particular morning, he was waiting as my bleary eyed boss stumbled out of the lift nursing the usual hangover.
Mr Chin followed him to our office, all the while demanding money. Tree’s mutters of “not now not now” were ignored so he spun round to face Chin and screamed “what do you want? the shirt off my back?” Given the state of his clothes that was highly unlikely but Tree tore it off and threw it across the room followed by his watch, shoes, socks, belt and trousers. when he was down to his pink elephant print boxers there was a moment’s silence while they glared at each other in a standoff.
the staff knew Tree kept his cash in a pocket sewn into his boxers but did Mr. Chin? “you want these too? you want to leave me with nothing?” Tree tried to outstare Chin but it wasn’t working. he dropped the shorts and we all looked. swollen to twice its normal size with balls like rotten grapefruit his cock was completely black. Chin’s composure cracked as he backed out of the office and into the lift.
Turns out Tree was servicing the mistress but missed both docks and crashed into her coccyx with blood vessel breaking results. the male staff all averted their eyes in horror but nursemyra was fascinated. “what’ll I tell my wife?” was Tree’s main concern.
an image of his gullible blonde bimbo flashed through my mind. “why don’t you tell her you broke your baculum in a squash game?”
he did. and she bought it. the moral to this story is: if you’re going to cheat then wear your glasses. and if you need more time to settle your bills, a broken boner always speaks louder than boxers full of cash.