“…And that’s why we can’t allow things to get too out of hand around here,” Michael said. “The author says it will cause the three D’s. Distraction, Destabilization, Downsizing.”
The meeting had reached a lull, and Michael could sense that he was boring his employees. This was an unusual situation, as typically they seemed captivated by his lectures in the conference room; almost as if they would rather be here than hard at work at their desks. Today though, it seemed like everything was going wrong. The topic, a book Jan had suggested titled Maintaining Office Discipline as a Key to Increasing Productivity, bored him so much he was only able to get twenty pages into it and had to miss lunch in order to get that far. He might have been able to get a few pages further along and more prepared for the meeting if he hadn’t become distracted and annoyed when he noticed the price tag. Jan had paid a premium for an autographed hardcover first edition. She always lived first class and he had a new line on his forehead each month as evidence.
The lull was broken by the sound of a loud thunk. Everyone in the room swiveled in surprise and found the source of the noise to be Creed Bratton sitting at the far end of the table, slicing open a pineapple with a knife; his handkerchief tucked into his collar as a makeshift bib.
“Keep going,” Creed said, putting a paper plate under the pineapple and preparing to cut it into smaller pieces. “Don’t mind me.”
“Well, Creed…” Michael was nonplussed and tried to regain control of the situation. “You know what they say. If you don’t have enough for everyone, you’ll have to put it away.”
Creed swallowed a piece and nodded. “Oh, I have enough,” he said, wiping his lips. He reached into a bag beside his chair and piled more pineapples onto the table. “One for everyone here. Who wants one?”
“We are in the middle of something important.” Michael said, weakly. He held up the book so Creed could see it. He was too tired to be angry and thought maybe the old man wasn’t aware there was a meeting going on.
The pineapples rolled loudly across the table as Creed scattered them toward people with their hands raised. He then wiped off his knife and passed it around so that anyone who needed it could use it.
“How…” Michael stammered, “How can you afford that?”
Creed shrugged. “I can’t. Someone else is.”
“Well, I’m not paying for it.”
“Were you standing outside Steamtown Mall last night?” Creed asked, his sharp eyes meeting Michael’s with an inquisitive glance. “Listening to an iPod and with a wallet sticking halfway out of your back pocket?”
“No.”
“Then relax, you’re not paying for it. Now, who needs a paper plate and a plastic fork?”
Michael gave in and asked for a pineapple himself. He found a seat and dug in; he was hungry, it had been a long, tough day. Getting things back on track was hopeless at this point and he hadn't been too fond of the track to begin with. But he liked the pineapple, and the freedom that came with the anarchy Creed had introduced.
The next morning, he sold the book on eBay and decided that he’d find a way to celebrate a Pineapple Day at work once a month. A day in which he'd do everything he could to stop worrying so much about personal finances, productivity, discipline, and Jan.
