Today was Arbor Day, and Noble Redavich was very late. It was the kind of lateness that couldn’t be politely ignored or waved away with a simple “no worries, grab some coffee and let me get you up to speed.” This was lateness that required long explanations, back and forth volleys of excuses and rebuttals, clarifications and even borderline accusations of laziness and lack of dedication. This was lateness that might just make it into an employee review or get brought up during termination proceedings, somewhere after the “we regret to inform you” but around the beginning of the litany of answers to “but why?”
He had a good reason. The key was going to be pushing past the initial incredulity and disappointment to even have the opportunity to present his case. In this situation, the degree of lateness actually helped: it was so far beyond the bounds of what was acceptable that it quite nearly begged for an outlandish explanation. His colleagues sat, waiting, metaphorical popcorn buckets full, anticipating a real show.
His boss, Roger, sat casually atop a desk, all khakis and buttoned long-sleeve dress shirt—no tie, of course—with a neutral expression on his face. Closer examination would reveal that his jaw was set firmly, on the precipice of anger but well beyond concern, and his hands wrapped around the edge of the desktop, fingers tapping out a rapid march, like a firing squad drum roll.
“Hi,” Roger said. Noble walked up the aisle between cubicles, messenger bag swinging from his shoulder, coffee dripping down the side of his cup, over his thumb and onto the static-gray carpet. Seven pairs of eyes stared at employee, then boss, then back again; he was this late, but had managed to stop for coffee? The oddsmaker of the group did some mental calculations and immediately turned back to his desk in horror. “Nice of you to join us.”
“I—“ Noble started. Several pairs of eyeballs widened in hopes of an explanation.
Roger stood. “Let’s have a little chat, ok?” He turned and walked towards an open conference room without looking back. One by one, heads and eyes swiveled back towards laptops, and hands began to look busy.
Noble didn’t move. He was late, and he realized this, even accepted that habitual and extreme tardiness had consequences that he would have to eventually face. But he also realized that his future at this company—no, his overall future, perhaps his continued existence as a functional part of humanity—depended on how he handled this moment.
No eyes were on him. This was his chance.
“It’s the cats!” he blurted. “That’s why I’m late!”
Everyone froze. In moments, he was again the center of focus. Roger stopped and slowly turned.
“What did you say?”
Noble realized his heart was pounding. Throat suddenly dry, he swallowed. The room was silent.
“The cats,” he said. “They’re back.”
Nobody moved. Roger’s face puckered as if in deep thought, and he furrowed his brow. “Well,” he said finally. He turned back around and began heading once more for the conference room. “Come on,” he said. “You’re not fired,” he added. “After all, you’ve got to get us out of this mess.”
Noble looked around, but everyone was focused intently on their own work. He was on his own.
He sucked a small drop of coffee off his thumb and walked towards the conference room. The cats would have to be dealt with first; he’d figure out how to manage Roger later. One thing was certain: this was going to go down as an Arbor Day for the record books.
