Intoxifresh 2

Chapter Two

Merrick & Smyth Pharmaceuticals

Conference Centre

With his briefcase in one hand and his water in the other, George was helped by two of the receptionists towards the most important presentation of his life. They stopped outside the door and held it open for him. He thanked them and smiled to himself as he heard one of them wish him luck as they left. He knew that luck wasn’t needed, that everything was set in stone, and all the high profile board members were going to be seriously impressed beyond anything they’d ever witnessed before.

  

   The atmosphere flowing around the boardroom was one of trepidation. As George eyed each of the old men, he noticed a few had their eyebrows raised in apparent despair at his late arrival. He walked around them, their eyes following his staggered movements, his glass of water swaying slightly in his hand as he neared the only empty seat. He could sense the increasing anticipation from them as he began to sit down, but he knew that what he was about to show them would remove all concern, and that any doubt would soon turn into amazement after his revelation.

   A few drops of water splashed on to the large oval-shaped table as he misjudged the angle at which the glass of water should have been placed down on its surface. With briefcase still in hand he looked up with glazed eyes and was about to get the ball rolling when Mr Merrick, the senior partner of the firm, stood up from his seat and leaned across, both fists angrily clenched supporting his weight. ‘You’re drunk!’ George looked around at the other seven or eight old men. He wasn’t in a great position to count with much accuracy, but they were all mumbling and grunting and were shaking their heads. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ He thumped the table with one of his aged and veiny hands. ‘You turn up late and you sit there drunk out of your God damn mind…Well?’ George could see the anger growing as redness mounted in the old mans features. He took another sip of his water.

   ‘Yes I’m drunk, I’m drunk out of my mind, but…’ Mr Merrick thumped the table again as a few of the other old men began to stand up, disappointed and angry that they had wasted their time attending. The mumbling and grunting continued. George stood up and put his briefcase on the table, almost knocking it into his glass of water. “Don’t go! Please, I know how this looks…’ After a few seconds they patiently waited to hear what he had to say. ‘I know this must look bad… I know, but I had to go and get drunk to prove to you that my new invention works.’ He surprised himself that he was able to finish the sentence without slurring his words too much. He looked up from the old and wrinkled hand in front of him. ‘Please sit down, Marvin; I’ll be completely sober in just a couple of minutes.’ Mr Merrick contemplated for a few seconds, angry at being addressed by his first name, and then sat back down in his luxury leather seat. The only one standing now was George. He took a few more gulps of his water and proceeded with the presentation. ‘I apologise for being late, but it was necessary for me to consume a large amount of alcohol to show you the new orange instant sobering pill I’ve perfected. I lost track of time, I’m so sorry.’ Greg and Marvin gave each other a look, and as the room fell to a silence, they gestured for George to continue. ‘I had planned to explain everything about the new orange pill before ingesting one to prove its effectiveness, but I… I think I’d explain everything much better if I took one right now.’ He took another gulp of his water and placed his hands at either side of the leather briefcase ready to click the locks open. George knew that this was his moment, his time to shine. He had done a hell of a lot of hard work to get this far, and deep down he couldn’t wait to see the reaction to his new wonder drug. ‘Gentlemen, I give you IntoxiFresh.’ He looked around the table and all eyes were poised as they awaited the revelation of the wonder drug. The sounds of the two locks clicking open were highly audible as George’s hands hesitated to lift the lid of the briefcase; he wanted to add a little suspense. Everyone’s eyes were wide open as he fully opened the case and pushed his hand inside to grab the bag of small orange pills.

   There were gasps from all around as his hand hit the lining; he looked down in immediate shock and saw an empty briefcase. Mr Merrick stamped his old fist again. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ George was instantly filled with panic; he had no idea what had gone wrong but he knew all too well that he’d blown it. He felt sick and frantically searched around inside the case again.

   ‘They should be in here.’ He knew they were in his briefcase back at work because he had placed them in there himself, right before making his usual mid-morning cup of tea. Mr Merrick stood up and began to put on his long dark trench coat before he faced George again. With the sound of pouring rain repetitively attacking the windowpane, George realised he desperately needed the toilet. The old man pointed his finger in George’s direction.

   ‘You mean to tell us that you kept everybody waiting here for half an hour, you arrived in a drunken state… god damn drunk to your own presentation, and all you came prepared with is an empty briefcase?’ Nerves got the better of George; he didn’t want to look, but he could feel what he was doing. ‘And now you’re pissing yourself too, in front of all these board members.’ George wanted to close his eyes and wake up from the horrible dream he was having. He gave it a try, but when he opened his eyes he was still in the same boardroom. All the mumbling came back and everyone got up to leave; he knew it was all over.

   ‘That’s it, go back home, back to the old people’s home,’ he said sarcastically. Mr Merrick gave George a look of absolute disgust before asking Mr Smyth to deal with the situation. With nothing other than despair in his eyes, a confused George plonked himself down in his seat stinking of alcohol and urine. He felt terrible as he realised he was sitting in a small pool of his own waste. Greg Smyth was sat opposite and looked very displeased.

   ‘So tell me, was there ever any orange pill? Or are you going through some kind of a mid life crisis?’ George suddenly started to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

   ‘Yes, of course the pills are real. I put over two dozen of them in my briefcase at work this morning, in preparation for this,’ he said while trying to act as sober as he could. ‘I can get some more and do the presentation again if…’ His sentence was cut short as his immediate boss began to stand up.

   ‘I’m sorry George, I really am, but you’ve made a fool of yourself today.’ George tried in earnest to defend his actions, but didn’t succeed. ‘You’ve upset the majority shareholders and also Mr Merrick himself from your frightful display. I’m afraid you no longer work for us. We have to be able to rely on our staff to do the job to the best of their abilities, and you come here drunk and put on a show like that? I’ll send something more formal in writing, but I think you should go home now, go home and sleep it off.’ The old man pushed down on his walking stick to heave himself up from his chair, and continually shook his head as he walked out of the room. George was left feeling troubled, his trousers soaked and a hoard of questions running through his mind. He’d worked so hard for this, so why did it go so terribly wrong? Why was his briefcase empty? Why did someone steel the orange pills? And more importantly, who? He went back down towards the reception area and scribbled some kind of small pattern in the sign out box, refusing to even look at any of the three receptionists sat at the front desk.

   As he pushed open the doors to the outside world, the bursts of wind knocked him back to reality. He had no idea what to do with himself; his life, as he knew it, had hit a massive brick wall. He sat down on the concrete steps and noticed a charity shop not far away. The smell of urine was still apparent with every intake of breath, he just couldn’t get away from it; he needed some clean trousers. Still feeling very drunk he opened the door to the charity shop and walked around until he found the clothing section. He didn’t care to see who else was in the shop. He stripped off his own stained trousers and tried on another pair that had a £2 price tag attached, and were a perfect fit. He knew the right thing to do was to dispose of his own trousers himself, so he held on to them as he went to the cashier. ‘Just the trousers please,’ he said while playfully displaying what he was currently wearing. The old lady behind the counter simply gave him a blank stare.

   ‘That’ll be two pounds please.’ He reached into the pocket of the trousers he was holding and threw the change on the counter. ‘You can have the extra 13p for the ever so polite customer service.’ He didn’t intend to be so sarcastic, he was just extremely angry at so many things at that moment in time.

   On the pavement outside he saw a litterbin and removed his wallet, house keys and small packet of chewing gum from his old trousers before throwing them in. As he swayed along the pavement he found an ATM machine and withdrew some money, knowing that he still owed the Red Lion pub which was just a few doors away, and which seemed to be calling out to him.

   The chairs had been taken off the tables and were neatly placed on the floor by the time he walked inside. ‘Back for more punishment, George?’ Linda smiled while fiddling with an earring and showing the slight gaps in her teeth surrounded by her smudged lipstick.

   ‘Hi Linda, just the one for me please. How much do I owe you?’ She grabbed a calculator to work things out. As he glanced around he noticed the same people from earlier. ‘They may as well live here and sleep under the tables,’ he muttered to himself. Quickly noticing his whisky already in front of him he looked up.

   ‘No, I didn’t say sleep under a table, I said that’s £47.90 in total please, George. What are you like?’ She giggled to herself as he handed her the money. George had three more drinks after that one and stood up to check his balance, which was fairly awful. His mother-in-law dragon watch told him that the time was around half past two, and he left the pub in an attempt to go home.

   The damp wind surged past him as he stepped outside. All he really wanted to do was to curl up in his cosy warm bed with Catherine, but that was almost a mile away. He did his best to feel complacent as he stumbled down the road. He hadn’t given any real details of the orange pill to the board and only he knew the ingredients; the invention was still his, and he knew he had to file the patent for the global rights.

   He turned a corner and the wind almost pushed him into a brick wall with a flurry of autumn leaves hurling themselves from every direction. He noticed the dark metal railings above the brick wall in a long line pointing towards his house; he tried to focus as he stumbled along.