JONES

  The prior week, Jones was sitting across from Flanagan at their shared disk. Jones had been beyond grateful for the job, initially. But two years of customer service had taken its toll. Flanagan was still in the honeymoon phase.

  ‘How many people’s fathers build a company based on their own invention?’ Flanagan reminded him.

  Jones nodded but didn’t smile. He was tired. Tired of the cluttered email inbox. Tired of the complaints. Tired of the people who thought they were clever to make a tired joke about the product his father’s company sold.

  Jones fiddled with the mobile phone in his hand.

  ‘I have 72 voicemails since yesterday.’ He said.

  Flanagan shrugged. ‘Business is booming.’

  Jones continued. ’I have 200 unread emails.’

  ‘Job security.’ Flanagan said as he picked up his phone and answered a call. ‘Hot Caulk.’

  Flanagan, like all Hot Caulk employees, was careful to clearly enunciate the ‘L’ in the word ‘caulk’.

  Jones’ father had found a need and filled the need five years earlier. Sealing bathroom, kitchen, and laundry fixtures had always been a messy business. A caulking gun in most hands was an imprecise tool. That led to drips, droops, and threads of caulk requiring clean up with acetone or some other nasty substance.

  What Jones’ father created was a way for anyone to lay a perfect bead of caulk. Without error. Every time. A semi-solid rope of caulk was packaged in rolls which could be unwound and pressed into a crevice needing sealing. Then a heat gun or hair dryer could be used to warm the caulk, letting it be pressed into place with no more than a finger run along its surface.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The product was a miracle. Its name was not.

  Beyond the Hot Caulk employee base, not everyone was as diligent about pronouncing the ‘L’ in ‘caulk’. That was part of its pop culture appeal.

  ‘Yes,’ Flanagan answered into the phone, ‘It comes in pink.’

  They sold nearly as much for bachelorette party gag gifts as they did for home improvement projects.

  Jones frowned. ‘What if I’m still doing this in five years?’

  Flanagan ended his call and placed his phone back on the desk.

  ‘You mean making that money?’ Flanagan brushed the fingers of one hand across the open palm of the other as though he was making it rain dollar bills in Jones’ direction.

  ‘No.’ Jones answered. ‘Still faking a laugh for every person thinking they’re the first to call in and ask for all the Hot Caulk they can get their hands on. Still having dreams about my inbox filling faster than I can empty it.’

  ‘Not a dream.’ Flanagan tapped a finger on Jones’ monitor screen. ‘Better get cracking.’

  Jones leaned back in his chair and exhaled.

  ‘I think that’s enough.’

  Flanagan raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  ‘I’m done here.’ Jones finished.

  He reached for the computer monitor and switched it off. After doing so, the beginning of a smile crossed his face.

  ‘Feels better already.’ Jones said. ‘Like I can think a little.’.

  He began scratching notes on a pad of paper.

  ‘If I cash out my 401K, empty my checking, and set up a spartan existence somewhere, I can stretch things out. Maybe a few years. Who could argue with that?

  ‘Your future, destitute self.’ Flanagan quipped.

  Jones ignored it.

  ‘Would you be willing to give me a ride?’ Jones asked. ‘I know the perfect place.’

  ‘Sure.’ Flanagan answered. ‘And I’m willing to pick you up a week later when you come to your senses and need a ride back.