Ronald Douche-AuLait leaned back on his chair and crossed his waffle-themed novelty slippers over on his desk. The sounds of rioting had been muffled by the double glazing, and he was tucking into a coffee. He looked at the business pages. Stock in his horse porridge company was stable, and that pleased him. Nobody knew more about horse porridge than Ronald Douche-AuLait. In fact, all that he didn’t know about oats in general could be – and is – summed up in the book “oats for human consumption”.
But Ronald decided to branch out. Shoe shops were his thing now. He owned a few in various towns after hearing from a mate that they were a licence to print money. Can’t be hard he thought. God, he knew nothing about shoes. Nothing. A waffle slipper fell to floor, exposing a footless ankle, the result of a freak oat-based equine accident.
Catriona Merde, Ronald's conveyancer for his latest shop purchase stuck her head round the door. A fine choice of manager for his latest shop in Charlton village thought Ronald. She even has feet. She had come to discuss the fate of the duty manger, Gal Larkin. Despite being flown in from Ronald’s failing flagship store in Bluewater, he hadn’t sold a shoe in weeks. This was despite Ronald personally bringing in a van load of right-foot-only beige Crocs (size 13) which he had purchased from a guy in a pub car park.
Ronald was disappointed. That store had been trouble ever since he had taken over the shop and got Catriona to sack the incumbent. He had wanted to bring in some nice lace-ups from Northampton, and was angry to be given some grey slips ons, some two-tone boat shoes with Grolsch bottle tops on the laces, and Yohann Thuram. A string of further duty managers from his other shops had since been and gone.
The customers were very annoyed. For years and years they had campaigned to keep a shoe shop open in the village, and all they wanted were nice comfy slippers to go with their flasks and tartan blankets, not to be told what to wear.
One previous employee had even started a leafleting campaign.
But Ronald was happy. He knew his stuff. Oats were a bit like shoes. Everyone else just needed to realise it.
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Comments
Beige crocs....yup, we've got a squad full of them!