A bumbling entrepreneur goes into business providing revenge for people who believe they have been wronged.
Indemnification
By E Kitson Southward
1,498 words
“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Bartholomew Carter.
Earl Blevins stammered in an attempt to explain, “I – I simply replaced the items that….”
“I saw what you did and that’s no excuse.” Bartholomew cut him off, “I’m not running a charity agency from my department. You’re fired; pick up your severance pay on Friday – I’ll see to it that the cost of those goods is deducted from the check.”
“But Mr. Carter, I’ve worked here for six years – and for you ever since you became the assistant manager.”
“That’s right – and I’ve been watching you. Now clean out your locker and leave.”
Earl Blevins slowly stepped from behind the checkout counter, went to his locker in the men’s dressing room where he changed into his street clothes, collected his personal belongings, packed them in a discarded carton, and dejectedly left the store through the rear entrance.
That evening, as he perused the help wanted section of the classified ads in the local paper, he found the serendipitous ad:
At eight o’clock the next morning, Earl dialed the number. It rang three times before a deep masculine voice said, “Indemnification Personified.”
“Good morning, this is Earl Blevins and I saw your ad in….”
“You got a problem with someone?” said the voice.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do.”
“Good, that’s why I’m here. No problem is too large or too small for us. What is it?”
“I was fired from my job yesterday. It was over a misunderstanding with my supervisor.”
“Did you do something wrong or illegal?”
“No, not at all!”
“Sounds like a personality conflict. Why don’t you come to the office and tell me the story.”
Earl got the adress and proceeded to drive to a private residence on the outskirts of town. There was a small trailer mounted on cinder blocks at the end of the driveway with a sign over the entrance, “Indemnification Personified – Resolve your problems here”, displayed in large red letters.
As Earl entered the recently converted travel trailer, he observed a comfortable sitting room with a small couch and two matching chairs at one end of the room. There was a desk, swivel chair, and a filing cabinet at the other end. He stood just inside the door looking around when a soft feminine voice said, “Mr. Blevins, please have a seat, make yourself comfortable and I will be right with you.”
Just as he began to take a seat on the couch, a panel beside the filing cabinet slid open and a tall willowy brunette stepped into the office – he remained standing. “Good morning, Mr. Blevins, I am Irene Dunn and welcome to my indemnity program.” She crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs opposite the couch. “Please be seated and tell me your story and then I will decide what needs to be done.”
“Where is the man I spoke to on the phone and how much does this service cost?” he asked.
She hesitated, and then said, “I am the person with whom you spoke. The price of my service will depend on the type of problem you have and the results we achieve in resolving it.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“I modified an old voice scrambling device and use it on the phone to disguise my voice in order to give it a bit of authority. Would you have come here this morning if you thought a woman was running the business?”
“I don’t know – maybe.”
“And maybe not,” she interjected.
“OK,” he conceded, “but what is it you do, exactly, and how much will it cost?”
“As I said, the price will depend on the situation and the results.”
“That is not an answer. What is your usual fee?”
When she hesitated again, he asked, “How many clients do you have?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor as she reluctantly replied, “You are the first.”
“What!” he said as he got to his feet, “What kind of bumbling entrepreneurial business are you running here?”
“Please Mr. Blevins, be seated. I promise I can help you. Just tell me your story.”
As he sat back down he thought, “What the hell – I haven’t paid her anything yet or signed any papers, so what have I got to lose?”
“That’s better,” she coaxed, “now why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what this is all about.”
Earl commenced to explain; “I began working for the Grant’s Grocery Store chain right after I graduated from high school. It was six years ago that I started as a stock boy. I worked hard and moved up from job to job until I got a position as checker and cashier a year ago. When my friend, Bennet advanced to general manager six months ago, Bartholomew Carter transferred in from somewhere back east and filled Bennet’s assistant manager’s position. From that day forward, my life has been miserable. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. I am too slow, too sloppy, too this, or too that.”
“You told me on the phone that you got fired yesterday. Tell me the circumstances behind that.”
“Mr. Greenbalm is an 83 year old man who has been coming into the store maybe twice a week. He has very little money and pays for most everything with the change he gets from refunds on the bottles he collects from the neighborhood. Yesterday, he came in and bought his usual quart of milk, half dozen eggs, and a small loaf of bread. Bartholomew was watching as the old man counted out his nickels and dimes to pay for his purchase. I admit the old fellow is slow in thought and action and another patron stood waiting behind him. That in itself was not the problem; that came after the old man left. I had checked out the next customer when I heard a commotion coming from outside the main entrance. When I heard someone called out, ‘Mr. Greenbalm has fallen down’, I locked the register and went to see what had happened. Sure enough, he had fallen but was not injured. When I got there, he was sitting in the middle of a squashed loaf of bread soaking up scrambled eggs and milk. Another man helped me get him to his feet and onto a sidewalk bench.”
“You mean you got fired because you left the register?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it was because I duplicated Mr. Greenbalm’s order of milk, eggs and bread and gave it to him without making him pay for it again.”
“That was a very humanitarian thing for you to do,” she stated.
“Bartholomew didn’t think so, not even after I offered to pay for the items. That’s why I’m seeking new employment.”
“Now that I know the story,” Irene said, “I will take it from here.”
“That’s fine Ms. Dunn, but how much will it cost?”
“From your situation, I estimate that one month’s pay from your new job, payable over the next four months ought to cover it.”
“What new job?”
“You leave that to me. Go home, relax and I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
Earl did as he was told and at ten o’clock, two days later the phone rang. It was Irene who said, “Can you come to the office, I have some paperwork for you.”
Earl thought, “I knew it. It’s time for the other shoe to fall. I just hope I can afford it.” He replied, “I’ll be right over.”
This time when he entered the office of Indemnification Personified, Irene stood and walked from behind her desk. “It is good to see you again Earl, I have some good news for you.”
They went to the lounge area and sat down as Irene continued, “Do you know Mr. Perry Grant?”
“Yes, he’s the owner of Grant’s Grocery Stores.”
“That’s right, and when I contacted him…”
“You went to see Mr. Grant personally?”
“Of course, that was part of my job. Anyway, when I told him about what had happened, he confided in me that your nemesis, Bartholomew Carter had been transferred from store to store several times in hopes that his nephew would shape up. This was his last chance to prove himself – and he failed.”
She handed him a large envelope saying, “There is a letter of recommendation and commendation for you in this package. Mr. Grant said that he wished that he had more employees like you. People who demonstrated their concern for others as you did are too valuable an asset to lose. Therefore, there is also an affidavit of promotion to assistant manager.”
“But that’s Bartholomew’s job!” Earl exclaimed.
“Not any more. There is also a letter of termination of employment with his name on it. Mr. Grant felt it would be an act of poetic justice if you presented it to him in person tomorrow morning.”