Page 1 of Croc Food

CHAPTER 1

Chad

“Chadley, what do you think about those fourth quarter earning reports?” Mr. Van Buren boomed loudly in my ear. “Think they’re good enough for us here at the Whispering Sycamores Golf Course, or can we pump them up a bit?”

“Oh, absolutely, sir, we can do better than that!” I said eagerly as my boss sat down at the table across from me.

Mr. Van Buren eating lunch with us in the break room?

Now this was a rare treat. And a perfect opportunity to make my case for the upcoming VP promotion he’d been teasing for the last several months. There was only one tiny problem. . .

Mr. Van Buren was owner and manager of the Whispering Sycamores Golf Course, and although he wasn’t the easiest guy to work for, he had a lot of clout in Whispering Sycamores. And I knew that VP job was between Kyle, Zach, and I.

Not only had we all been in the same fraternity, and were now employed as golf pros and salesmen at the same place, but we were all still very competitive, and I could feel the tension rise in the break room as we glanced over at each other.

The coffeemaker bubbled away in the background.

Mr. Van Buren must have some invisible score sheet, and so far we were all tied on presentation, all in crisp collared shirts with luxury brand ties, limited edition belts, and pants ironed so sharp the crease was like a knife’s edge.

Whoever Mr. Van Buren liked the best was undoubtedly going to get this VP job, a massive raise, and that sweet corner office instead of a cubicle. Now, it only faced a concrete wall, but that didn’t matter. It was still sweet.

Our boss settled in with a grunt and placed his lunchbox on the table.

“Well, boys, it sure is nice to have the little wifey to make me a lunch every day. Nothing I love more than a sweet lil housewife, you know?”

He opened his lunchbox with a sigh of contentment and spun it around to display what looked like leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

“I’ve often thought a young man who can run his household well is a young man who will do well in business. They’re the same skills of employee management, setting expectations, and rewards for appropriate behavior.”

“Love having a wife,” I put in since Mr. Van Buren seemed to expect a response to this.

It was not exactly how I would have characterized my relationship with my wife, in fact, it was kind of a weird thing to say about your wife, but, on the other hand, that corner office! Being able to close the door and not hear Zach’s crappy music or how he blew his nose just like a goose during allergy season.

Priceless. Definitely worth ignoring Mr. Van Buren’s assumption that we all acted like some major-general at home and whistled for our breakfast in the morning.

“Jessica knows exactly what my expectations are and exceeds on her deliverables,” Kyle added, while I tried to avoid glaring at his shellacked skull.

The way Mr. Van Buren talked about his wife was so weird and cringe, but I couldn’t think about that because I was too busy worrying about what was in my lunch now.

In fact, I felt a distinct shiver of trepidation as I took out my gray lunchbox.

Gray was a good color. It gave professional but not boot-licker.

Zach made a face at me. He didn’t have a wife and therefore was eating a burger and Coke from The Sloppy Joe, the cafeteria-style diner on the first floor.

Now I knew the food was damn good there, since my wife Bitsy managed the place, but it wouldn’t please my boss.

He believed in good, traditional cooking. And always homemade from scratch.

Mr. Van Buren tutted to see it. “Young man, a wife would do you all the good in the world. A burger and fries is not enough good red-blood Alpha male power to fuel a sharp corporate mind. Why don’t you get a wife?”

Since Zach was a blonde beefcake who had always been very popular in our frat, I thought him getting taken down a peg or two was pretty funny, but I said nothing because at the same time it would suck to be ripped a new one for not having a wife at 26.

Everyone knew Mr. Van Buren was a big family man and thought having a wife made you more responsible, but Zach had so far resisted the urge to find one.

“Yes, sir,” he said glumly.

Then, Kyle opened his navy-blue lunchbox.