The production manager did not like Lucy Faulkner. She was slim, sexy, and unconcerned with his music. He found her shallow and her English – disappointing. He could not figure out what she meant by "The toilet was a source of discriminatory activity". The words "Investigate" and "Urgency" did not leave a doubt. It was a serious matter. He could feel the uncomfortable breeze of danger emanating from the computer screen. It gave him goosebumps. He connected the most obvious dots: If the toilet was a source of discriminatory activity it could only mean one thing – someone had a small dick! He chuckled instinctively glad there were others like him, but could not understand why someone would complain to HR about it. It just did not make sense. He had the feeling it was just the beginning of something much bigger. A share thought that a small dick could get out of proportions gave him even more goosebumps. The company was full of people without balls but how was he supposed to identify a person with a small penis? Was the size of a penis related to the size of a man's thumb? Just because it applied to him did not necessarily mean it was a golden rule. He shrugged his shoulders confused by the increasing complexity of the problem. "At least the black man is ruled out for obvious reasons", he noticed with relief, "but what about the rest of the men?" The whole case seemed far too sensitive and the legal side of things at best – murky. Like most people in his situation would, he decided to wait. He waited like that for a couple of minutes, pointlessly drumming his fat, hairy fingers against the edge of his desk. Dissatisfied with the lack of result he looked at his keyboard, making sure all the letters were in their right place, googled "discrimination" and read half aloud: "Unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people, especially on the grounds of race, age, sex, or disability."
He nodded a few times with approval. Everything was much clearer now. He could tell with a great deal of confidence that the company did not employ different categories of people. To his knowledge, there was just one category of people, employees. Moreover, everyone within the business was white, except for the black guy obviously, but he was not treated differently. Both Arnold and the Hooligan treated him like they would treat every other black guy - with contempt. Sex did not apply at all. The men did not have sex in the toilet. It was far too busy for intimacy. Disability was questionable. There were quite a few weirdoes in the factory but the production manager did not know if they could be classified as "disabled" just because they were not able. Most importantly, there was nothing about "toilets being a source of activity". The production manager clapped his hands. A triumphant smile crossed his face. Lucy had it wrong! Once more he was able to connect the dots! He corrected his haircut glad he finally knew what was going on and immediately slumped into a state of intense distress. An email of such a profound value could only be sent with the approval of the Managing Director. Lucy may have been wrong but the Managing Director was always right. The production manager sighed heavily and rested his chin on his fist. It just did not look good at all. He pondered for a moment in silence and then got up from his chair and padded along to the toilet where he took a leak, measured his penis against his thumb glad a status quo was maintained, and noticed big fat "#America is full of shit" written right on top of the middle mirror. Shivers of panic run down his spine. He just facilitated hate speech! His pulse sped up and droplets of sweat covered his forehead. Once the first shock was over, the production manager carefully analyzed the situation. The handwriting was precise and tight and the message ... well the production manager did not know what to say about the message. He was confused and to make some sense out of it he rubbed his eyebrows with his fat fingers. It did not help much. Someone clearly had a problem with America. The business employed 32 people in the factory and none of them had ever written anything in the toilet. None of them had ever been to America. None of them had ever demonstrated interest in anything. Football, betting, and moaning were all they knew. It just did not make much sense that someone would have a problem with America. It was the greatest country in the world, a superpower, an embodiment of everything that was good in life. The world was full of shit countries to choose from, countries where people had no rights, could not go shopping and if they could there was nothing to buy but potatoes. They marched in their thousands all over the place demanding their God's given rights to have breakfast at Mcdonalds', snap it with an iPhone and upload it on Instagram for everyone to see how well they were doing in life. Why would someone have a problem with that? As an Englishman production manager was proud that Great Britain gave birth to America. "Did Russia give birth to something more than communism?" he asked himself. "And even that failed the test of times". He could not help but chuckle and then it suddenly struck him - Managing Director holidayed in America! Two and two gave him four. The woodshop manager was balls deep in it! The evidence was clear. He was the only man who openly hated the managing director, the only man who demonstrated on numerous occasions that he could write, and the only man who had a problem with everything. And if that was not enough he also had mental health issues. The production manager breathed out. He could feel the storm coming.
4 Production manager
Start from the beginning
