Spoiler
a football player in an office telling bad jokes
The problem, though infinitesimal, still managed to considerably delay the production of the new line.
People were already overworked when the gaffe, a CYMK-RGB switch problem, came to light. The new custom leopard-print cleats, to be worn by Sol Dumas and Archer Ranger, the current racehorses of European football, on the wide green field of the World Cup and in TV spots all summer long, came out darker than expected. Instead of dark brown spots on golden brown faux fur, shoes with black spots on dark yellow arrived. These looked good to some, and some of the more lighthearted campaign workers had called it a 'happy accident', but it was not right.
"It has to be right," said Chalance Midgeon, to an audible groan on the shop floor. Designers, production assistants, checkers, marketing, and salespeople would be cooped up in the windowless, fluorescent-lit room for another week, all for the brightness of their computer screens not translating hues properly to the custom-made shoe.
Chalance loved her motley crew of sneaker developers, even if she didn't make a show of it. That they weren't able to spend time with their families during these deadline crunches bothered her. Unshaven and sunken-eyed faces now filled Strike Ltd., as material samples were being checked and re-checked, phones cemented to ears, overseas manufacturers being contacted, new problems being discovered that threatened to push back the PardSprint's release even further. Would Dumas and Ranger have to run onto the field in Germany's opening match with Switzerland barefoot?
Chalance pondered the problem: the team needed new motivation, something to remind them of what they were shooting for. Maybe her connections in high places could fix that.
The next morning, fifteen men and women bent over their tasks were surprised by a booming voice. It was muffled by the elevator's doors, but then—tink!--they opened, and Archer Ranger himself walked into the office.
"Hey hey hey!" Archer said, his big, loud grin rotating to face everyone in turn. He was wearing a suit that cost thousands of dollars, all pinstripes, and carrying a mesh bag of Switzerland's World Cup balls.
"Wow!" replied Charlie, the outgoing market manager. "Hi, Archer!"
"Hey! How are you all today?" asked Archer, shielding his eyes from the light. A chorus of moans and mumbles greeted him, and he laughed. "That's why I'm here!"
"Wow!" cried a marketer who was wearing Archer's Germany jersey. "Am I dreaming?"
"Sign my modem!" someone yelled.
Archer reached into the bag and brought a red and white ball out in one surprisingly small hand, and tossed it over to an assistant bent over two screens. The kid grinned and caught the ball even while one hand scribbled on a tablet. "Thanks, Archer! Wow! It's signed!"
"I signed 'em all!" said Archer. He threw another ball to Mendez, the sales manager. She caught it with both hands.
"Nice grip! I like that in a girl!" Archer said, winking.
Mendez blinked, then looked around. Chalance was in her glass-walled cube separate from them, typing away, a headset on. She had black glasses, short dark hair combed to a shine, and no makeup but for a gloss of her lips.
"Ooh, that must be Ms. Chalance," Archer said, following her gaze, and lowered his voice. "Hot. Hey, y'know why they call me 'Sweet Fingers' even though I'm a footballer?"
Having just then consulted Wikipedia, Mendez said, in a loud voice, "Because your hands were the size of a child's your entire life."
"No, no!" Archer laughed again, and turned away from Mendez's desk. He tossed a ball to Charlie and another to two designers, who quickly got back to work. "Why are you guys so whipped? C'mon! I'm here to cheer you up. Here we go!"
He cupped his hands into a tube in front of his mouth and said loudly into Shunta's ear, "Hey I heard you chinks got small dicks! But don't your chicks got small pussies to match? HAHAHAHA!" Archer walked off. Shunta's fingers didn't move from the keyboard, but they stopped typing, and his eyes didn't move from the screen, but they stopped reading.
Archer hopped onto the work surface in the center of the office, where blueprints, samples, and sketches were laid out (he shoved them out of the way like a schoolboy would) and started taking off his jacket. Obviously he intended to attract attention to himself, but as hardly anyone looked up, and those who did went back to work, he decided to attempt yet more saucy humor. He rolled up his sleeve to show a bow and arrow tattooed on his left forearm, with the initials P.N.S.
"Hey, you!" he called out. Charlie looked up, smiling. "You know what these stand for?"
"Dunno, Archer."
Mendez coughed. Archer didn't miss it, grinning at her. "Hey, hottie. You know what they stand for, right?"
"They refer to your genitals," said Mendez, putting on her own headset for a conference call.
"Women these days all wear headsets," stated Archer. He picked his ear. "In my opinion, the only 'head' they should be concerned about is--"
"Mr. Ranger."
Archer stopped talking abruptly. Chalance was at her door. Her dress was a solid dark brown, and rivaled his suit in its original asking price.
"Your comments are making my staff uncomfortable."
"I'm trying to cheer 'em up, that's why I'm here," said Archer.
"Yes," Chalance said, and bent her knees elegantly to pick up a football that had rolled to her feet. She straightened up and tested its balance, its bounce. "But you have to do it right."
"Want to show me how, Ms. Chalance?"
"Yes," said Chalance, tossing the ball into the air. She aimed a swooping kick to its side with her stylish flat. The contact was perfect, and the ball sailed like a bird, twenty feet away, hitting Archer's celebrated P.N.S.
"Bahoo!" he cried, cheeks puffing out, tumbling off the workspace.
The entire office shouted "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!"
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