Episode 1 - The Fatal Facilitator

         Rand Hobart liked to be prepared.   At 8.43 he entered the conference suite that was to be, until 5.00 that evening, his domain.  Flipping open the catches on his briefcase he reached inside and brought out half a dozen bean bags, then he looked in a small personal mirror to check that his tie was straight.  The training session wasn't due to start till 9.30, so he sat in his chair, upright, perfectly still.  The only movement in the room was the faint ripples on the water in the jug at his elbow.  Rand Hobart was Aqualine Insurance's number one trainer and facilitator, and this was going to be a very special training day. 

       At 9.22 the first trainee arrived: the legendary Rita Murchison.  Rita's mouth, as always, was twisted into a vicious curve that made her look as if she had just bitten the head off a gerbil.  Rita prided herself on being 'tough' and 'no-nonsense' and on her ability to reduce junior staff to tears with a casual aside.  Rita, to be fair, never spoke behind anyone's back.  She waited until you were nearly out of her office and then, from the side of her mouth, fired a barb that wounded you to the soul while checking her i-phone.  Men dreaded seeing her name on incoming e-mails, knowing that the contents would rip their egos to shreds like old dish-rags.  Managing directors went on sabbatical, got themselves transferred, or had their appendixes removed rather than have to read her internal memos. 

       Rita installed herself in a chair and started looking at her phone, and so hardly noticed when Jim Soans entered the room and instinctively sat on the other side of the table from her.  Jim  mumbled a greeting but in his mind he was planning the songs for his next gig, his fingers plucking an invisible guitar, working the chords to 'River Deep, Mountain High.'  Jim might be a corporate suit by day, but at night he was Johnny Darkly, rock and roll animal.   Jim was like Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde, except it was his daytime, respectable self that he was ashamed of.  Everybody in the office knew that he was in a band, nobody in Johnny Darkly and the Shades knew that by day he was a loss adjuster.   

        At 9.29 Rand watched as Debbie Arden cautiously opened the door one half inch wider than the width of her body and looked nervously at everyone before squeezing into the conference suite. 

'Room for a tiddler?' she asked as she tiptoed to a seat at the far end of the table.

Rand swivelled his head until he was looking directly at her.

'Don't sit all the way over there, come and join us,' he said.  Debbie smiled uncertainly, but then she always did.  She was unnerved by Rand's voice: it reminded her of the computer that went mad in 2001.  She went and sat next to Jim while Rita asked briskly 'Is it just the three of us?'  Rita already knew that this day would be a waste of time.  She could always liven things up by harassing Debbie, but that was really too easy.  Rita was too ambitious a bully to satisfy herself with small fry like that.  She liked to find somebody's hidden weak spot, and Debbie, with her collection of teddies on her desk, her personalised stapler with her name written in Tippex on the top, and her annual holidays in Rhyl, was all weak spot. 

'One more coming,' Rand said evenly, and didn't say any more.  It was another quarter of an hour before the final trainee came in.  Bob Winthrop opened the door and looked around uncertainly before spotting them.  As usual, a generous portion of shirt tail poked through his flies: it looked as if he had started out wearing a white carnation as a buttonhole, but that it had slipped down beneath his belt.  His face, with its mesh of broken red veins, looked like a newly-opened pomegranate.  He stood in the doorway, focusing, and then said:

'Sorry, hold-up on the trains, you know.'  Bob walked carefully over to where the others were sitting and slumped into a seat beside Debbie, who inched away minimally.  Bob panted as if he had been carrying heavy luggage.  He wanted to take his jacket off, but thought he'd give it ten minutes so that his armpits had a chance to dry out.

'Good, we're all here,' said Rand in his soothing voice, which immediately made everyone uncomfortable.  'I think we should all get to know each other.' 

'Why?  We've all been working in this office for years,' said Rita.

'Yes,' said Rand, unruffled, 'but I think we should really get to know each other.  Stand up everybody, please.'

Slowly each of them rose to their feet.  Rand threw one of the bean bags at Jim Soans and said 'Just throw this to somebody and say their name as you do so.'

'We know each other's names,' said Rita. 

'But it's part of your Developmental Requirements to enter into the spirit of the meeting,' said Rand, and Rita was reminded of how, when she was six years old at infant school, she hadn't wanted to play at being a duck, or some such stupidity, and how the teacher had said 'You're spoiling it for everyone.'  That had been the last time that Rita had given in to coercion. 

         Jim threw the bean bag across to Rita, who threw it back across to Debbie, who squealed as if it was alive and threw it to Bob.  Bob was still waiting for it ten seconds later. 

'It's at your feet, Bob.'

'What?  …  Oh, sorry, yes, yes.'  He bent down to pick it up, wondering how long it would be till lunchtime.  He saw by the clock that it was 9.50.

          Rand made them all sit down again. 

'Now the purpose of this exercise is to build us up as a team.  To understand our Principle Values as a company.  We at Aqualine Insurance aren't just a company, we have a vision, and we want you to share that vision.  We want to know your hopes, your dreams, your fears.  We want you to be happy.'  Somehow, Rand made that sound like a threat.

           He told them how the company had a philosophy and that all employees shared that philosophy, lived that philosophy, and how he could help everyone present live that philosophy more fully.  Bob wasn't listening.  He was playing Grandmothers Footsteps with the clock, but the clock was winning.  Although Bob kept looking at it, it never seemed to move.  He felt like a stranded jellyfish drying in the sun.  Once the clock reached half past twelve he would be able to get out of the room and soak in a rock pool of beer... but then he noticed the tray of sandwiches under cellophane on a trolley in the corner, and he realised that they would have to stay for lunch.  Perhaps they would never get out.

         Debbie Arden felt time slowing down as well.  She'd been on training days before, and the worst thing about them had been that they had put Rita Murchison in such a bad mood.  After a day course in Respecting Difference In The Workplace Rita had stopped by Nancy's desk and stapled her fluffy bunny's ears together and then drop-kicked it into a waste-paper basket.  Debbie hadn't liked moving to Head Office anyway.  She liked being somewhere where you could bring cakes on Friday afternoon, and she had never felt comfortable doing that in Head Office. Head Office took up the thirty-second floor of a gleaming skyscraper that reminded Debbie of a giant cigarette lighter.  Everything in Head Office was chrome and black plastic: nobody there grew pot plants in old margarine tubs, or arranged staff trips to the sea-side, or sent e-mails of tap-dancing penguins.    Instead, the staff all dressed like their office furniture: they looked functional, precision-designed, fit for purpose.  Everyone wore security passes that hung like labels around their necks.  For a gag Jim had once put a sticker over his security pass that read 'Reduced to Clear' and Rita, a black belt in sarcasm, had called him into her office and given him one of her verbal high kicks. 

         It was Rita who spoke now.

'We know all the jargon,' she said.  'We get all the e-mails.  Why have we got to waste a day coming in here?'

         Rand smiled as if he had expected her to say that.  'And the company knows all about you.'

He looked around the table.  They were all listening now.  'We know, Rita, how you regularly drive your P.A.s to a breakdown.'

'I'm not going to waste any more time here,' said Rita, reaching for her briefcase.

'That's right, Rita, you're not going to waste any time here, because you're going to learn something.'

'I've got real work to do.'

'It would be a terrible shame to lose you, Rita.  The company doesn't like to lose employees, as that would imply that the company had failed.  The company does not fail.  Please resume your place.'

Rita looked round then sat down resentfully.  Jim was smiling, until Rand turned to him.

'Jim, you play in a band.'

'Sure.' 

'You go on the road a lot.'

'Yeah.'

'In fact, you played a music festival in Aberystwyth a couple of months ago.'

'Yeah, it was a heavy scene, we stormed them...'  But Jim was floundering, he knew that something bad was coming.

'You stormed them, despite having a ruptured spleen. That's what you told Rita you had: the office sent you a get well card.'

Jim cursed silently: he knew he shouldn't have shared that photo of the Aberystwyth gig on Facebook. 

Rand turned to face Debbie. She shuddered. She was sure that he must know. He must know that thing that no-one must ever know. Two years ago Rita's husband had arrived at the staff Christmas party, Debbie had recognised him by his nervous twitch, and she had felt sorry for him.  They got talking, and then slipped away together. They still met every now and then, whenever they dared.  Debbie blushed, dreading seeing Rita's face, and then enduring Rita's reprisals afterwards. Rand smiled and said nothing. But he knew. She was sure of that.

'And Bob,' said Rand. 'Well, I think we all know what challenges you face every day.'

Bob blinked and focused. 

        Rand now had their complete attention. This was what he did the job for. Power. He had absolute power over these people, and they knew it.  He knew everything about them: in fact, he knew enough to send at least one of them to prison.  He hadn't mentioned anything about that yet, but he was sure that the person was scared of him.  He owned them all.

        'It has to be admitted that none of you have quite matched up to the company's philosophy, but we at Aqualine Insurance believe in giving you another chance.  You'd like another chance, wouldn't you?'         

                      

'Yes,' they all mumbled.

'Good.  I think it's time we all learned to trust each other.  Let's play a trust game.  Would you like to play a trust game?'

'Yes,' they all mumbled, more slowly.

'Good,' Rand said, and pulled down all the blinds in the room. 

'Debbie, turn out the lights, please.'

She did so.  The room was completely dark.  Rand's voice continued through the darkness.

'I want you all to get up and move around, and when you bump into somebody tell them how glad you are to be working for the company.'

      There was a long silence, and then a few shuffling sounds.

'I'm so glad to be working for the company...'

'I'm so glad to be working for the company...'

Then there was a strange spluttering noise, the sounds of a struggle, a crash as a chair was turned over, and then there was silence.

'What was that?' Debbie's voice could be heard.  'Rand?  Rand?'

There was no reply.  Debbie stumbled, felt for the switch, and turned the light on.  Then everyone in the room gasped, before they had even taken in what they could see in front of them. 

          Rand Hobart was propped up on a seat: his eyes were staring wildly and his tie had been wrenched from his collar and tied far too tightly around his throat.  His mouth had been stuffed with half a dozen bean bags.

         Jim removed the bean bags and tried for minutes to revive Rand.  But it was too late.  Rand Hobart had facilitated his last meeting. 

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