CHAPTER 1
Walt Allen had a beer belly and bad breath and long hair waved from out of his ears but his nose was hair-free at the nostrils. Walt's genial manner and fairly constant smile were in his favor and being a multi-millionaire meant, to use Walt's own words, he didn't have to care a fuck what other people thought of him.
Four hundred and forty-two people throughout the country had thought enough of Walt Allen's business acumen to have purchased a $210,000 Walt Garden Shed franchise that included the right to lease their garden shed on a property also provided by the company along with the commitment to buy product from WA Franchise Ltd to stock in their garden shed apart from items obtainable locally at a cheaper price and at least the same quality.
Walt employed twelve people with warehouses to receive 20 ft. shipping containers and break down the supplies as ordered by their approximately forty Walt Garden Shed franchisees they serviced and to deliver them and ship the empty containers back to the franchisor or elsewhere as directed.
The garden shed businesses didn't sell seeds or plants. They sold what gardeners usually had in their garden sheds: gardening tools, sharpening tools, spares for watering systems, five different sizes and grades of garden sieves, a range of gardening gloves, gumboots, overalls, and a range of sprayers and basic sprays plus some other bits and pieces like kneeling pads and oh wheelbarrows and small utility trolleys for pulling around the garden with produce, fertilizer or garden waste..
WA Franchise Ltd also supplied six types of its proprietary Walt Home Garden Sheds that franchisee on-sold those to clients from laptop viewings and they kept 50% of the mark-up price collected for making the sale and providing any required after-sales service. Franchisees agreed with Walt that 'any idiot could erect our simple to fabricate sheds' but sadly, judging by the percentage of call-outs, there are a great number of idiots out there.
The time arrived for Walt to go on tour to interface with some franchisees and to present awards to the company's three top revenue-producing franchisees for the past year. The winners would be featured on the WA Franchise Ltd web site for two months, receive $5000 cash and receive a special franchisor-paid Walt Garden Sheds advertisement in the three divisional winner's nominated local newspaper.
The company ran an on-going marketing program for its franchisees and that included advertising nationally, funded by an annual contribution from franchisees. They could also pay for their own advertisings and spend on sponsorships. The face of the Bob Garden Shed visual advertising promotion was the face of Walt's young wife, a creamy-skinned beautiful redhead Walt had engaged as a marketing consultant nine years ago when he was setting up his franchise business.
Walt had hired Gloria Meadows on the cheap because she was an out-of-work college graduate who'd been fired by her big city boss because Gloria, a farm girl, had been distressed by brutality of city living and the nasty methods applied ruthlessly within corporate business. Gloria answered Walt's ad and worked hard to become a great success. A year later, because Walt reminded her so much of his later mother, she stayed on and became Walt's wife after his second divorce finalized.
These days Gloria operated as CEO of the business. Franchisees called Walt Mr Allen or simply 'WA' but they and their families and garden shed assistants called Gloria by her first name, automatically, as everyone did because she was that kind of person.
Walt was all set to begin the traditional summer tour and call on many franchisees on a goodwill visit in the course of presenting the three awards when he ruptured his Achilles tendon playing 10-pin with his pals and was showing off at the end of his winning streak. He was taken to a medical center and had the foot and lower calf completely immobilized. He was warned to take complete rest to perhaps avoid the need for surgery.
"You'll have to go on tour," Walt said.
"What caused your to act so stupidly and injure yourself like this?" Gloria wailed.
"Good god woman, that's history. Get your mind back to the future."
Gloria gritted, frustrated yet again at Walt's inability to allow her release of emotional tension. She refrained from kicking his good ankle.
"Who'll drive me? You know I don't drove long distance because I fall asleep with the monotony."
"Then take that guy Goodfellow we hired as assistant operations manager."
"But he's only just started here and knows practically nothing about our business."
"But he'll be your driver, not a company spokesman. Just tell him whenever he's asked a question about our business he can answer that he's to smile and say to ask Gloria."
"Why are you saddling me with a misfit you choose to hire?"
"Careful now because in Blake's view you might be the misfit in this outfit."
Walt rumbled a belly-laugh. "God despite my agonizing injury I can come up with an inspired utterance like that."
"Like what?"
"This misfit in this outfit."
"Oh Christ," Gloria wailed, using language unbecoming for a lady.
Walt looked at her sympathetically.
"Darling I'm sorry for behaving like an idiot at 10-pin and injuring myself. Your mother did warn you I was too old for you and I'm sorry for placing you under pressure but I can run the business by phone from home."
Gloria sobbed, "Do you promise to change nothing of the sophisticated management systems I have in place?"
"I'm Walt Allen, entrepreneur. I change nothing that might harm this business operation. Walt Allen just concentrates on kicking ass and keeping people toeing the line on service and concentrating on the bottom line."
"Oh Christ," Gloria sobbed. "I don't want to go."
"You're going," Walt said flatly, warning she had to remember he was the real boss. "If I feel sexually primed I'll call one of the women from accounts over to deliver a hand job."
"You've never settle for just a hand job."
He scowled and said, "Keep focused on your business mission darling and leave sexual welfare to Uncle Walt."
* * *
Gloria headed off with Blake Goodfellow at the wheel and she complained, "Why are we driving in this vehicle instead of my husband's big Mercedes."
Blake said, "It was my decision, a business decision. Hard-working franchisees are less likely to notice the affluence of someone in a white AWD Lexus RX than in a large Mercedes and they will notice approvingly that it's a hybrid."
Gloria burst into tears and apologized for being grumpy.
"I know how you feel. No wife likes seeing her husband lying injured."
"Yes, yes, you're so right," Gloria sniffed and blew her nose.
The car stopped.
"Why have we stopped?"
"Come and sit in the front. You are like a disconnect puppet sitting back there alone at a time when you need comfort."
Gloria couldn't believe how quickly she'd got out and into the front seat and was smiling gratefully at the chauffeur although knowing she might look hellish if tears had messed up her makeup."
She looked in to the vanity mirror and suffered a vanity attack. Under her eyes and cheeks looked as if a tornado had passed through.
She groaned as said she looked revolting and Blake said yeah she did but he'd bet she'd look great in the raw.
"What?"
"Without make-up," he said hurriedly and she said yeah and anything on what she looked like at that moment would be an improvement.
They'd only gone a few hundred yards. He stopped again and went to the trunk and returned with her make-up bag.
"I can't, but thanks," she said, sounded disjointedly. "I can't, not in front of you."
