The setting: An office in a major U.S. city, as MAX WHALEY and his co-worker and roommate LARRY MONROE congregate near the water cooler to discuss an important meeting with their boss, ARCH FITZSIMMONS.
Max: All right. Phew. My God. Okay. What do we say?
Larry: Relax, will you? You’re getting too worked up over this. Be cool. Take a chilling tablet. Don’t have a cow.
Max: But! But!
Larry: Trust me. I know about Fitzsimmons. I’ve heard some things.
Max: Things, Larry? Things? Well, excuse me, Larry. Do you hear me, Larry? We need this raise, Larry. Oh, my God, do we need this raise, Larry.
Larry: (smirking, relaxed) Yes, Max, we do. By the way, I slept with your girlfriend.
Max: (spitting water in a fine spray) What the… ?
(Laugh track.)
CUT TO: The office of ARCH FITZSIMMONS. MAX and LARRY are seated in oversized chairs before his enormous desk. A magnificent cityscape is visible through the picture windows.
Fitzsimmons: (hands spread in front of him) I’m a proud man, a handsome man. I’ve worked hard. I have a family. A pristine energy flows through me. Can you feel it? I have tremendous love for life. So, what can I do for you boys?
Larry: (smooth, with confidence) Here’s the deal, Arch. May I call you Arch?
Fitzsimmons: (stone-faced) No.
(Laugh track.)
Larry: Pow. Anyway, Arch, Max and I need some more dead presidents, if you know what I’m saying.
Max: (frantic, sweating, grabbing) No, sir, see, what he means, sir, is —
Fitzsimmons: Go easy, Pendleton. I know what he means.
Max: (confused) You do, sir?
Fitzsimmons: (rising from his chair) Yes, and it is an outrage!
Max: Sir? Please, sir! Oh, God.
Fitzsimmons: I’ve read your reports; I’ve seen the numbers in your spreadsheets; I’ve crouched beside your cubicles and eavesdropped on personal phone conversations; I’ve been apprised of your behavior at Ann Baxter’s retirement party; I’ve found your college transcripts in the copy machine; I’ve witnessed your blatant misuse of company-supplied Blackberry handheld devices; I’ve overheard your sarcastic men’s room commentary.
Max: Those were your wingtips in the farthest stall?
(Laugh track.)
Fitzsimmons: You two are the biggest goofballs this company has ever seen. Clean out your desks, gentlemen, I want you gone by the time I get back from lunch.
(FITZSIMMONS storms out of the office. A beat.)
Larry: That went well.
(Max breaks into tears.)
(Laugh track.)