Anyway, I was the manager of this shop. There was a period during which Matt (the most Aryan of all my minions), left my curious employ to spend a year building important things to protect us from the Communists. However, a combination of my own laziness and an ineffectual HR department meant that Matt stayed on the books; and Matt made the most of this by continuing to use his staff discount despite having worked precisely zero hours for over seven months. This didn't sit too well with me, so I had a quiet word with Matt and told him that I didn't want to see his name cropping up in the staff sales book until he came back to work for me.
So when one day he suddenly ran out of black spray paint, Matt did what any loose-cannon maverick part timer with nothing to lose and everything to gain would do; he came in on my day off, and asked Pat (the most Elven of all my minions) to put a different name in the book. Matt had expected Pat to frame Willard (the most gin-soaked of all my minions); he did not.
And so a few days later, I became the first of many to noisily ask "Who the fuck is Eduardo Monteaz?"
Eduardo Monteaz became like a collective imaginary friend. His name could often be found on sign up lists for events and new releases; and occasionally on toilet doors with a suffix to indicate that he had at some point been there. A few years later, when Paul (the most RoboJew of all my minions) got a job testing online flight booking systems, Captain Eduardo Monteaz was used as a dummy passenger; and so at some point the polite lady trapped inside the public address system of an international airport will have proclaimed it to be "the last call for Captain Eduardo Monteaz." And this was all super and fun and doubleplus good.
Then Eduardo Monteaz appeared on Facebook, requesting that all the former minions of the Art Shop (and a select few other associates) be his friend. Except for me, I'm far too anti-social for social networking.
At which point many voices noisily asked "Who the fuck is Eduardo Monteaz?" Fingers were pointed. Conspiracy theories mooted. Tea slurped. Toast eaten.
And a few weeks ago the plot got tar thick when this arrived on our doormat.
For those not given to squinting at computer monitors, it reads as follows:
So when one day he suddenly ran out of black spray paint, Matt did what any loose-cannon maverick part timer with nothing to lose and everything to gain would do; he came in on my day off, and asked Pat (the most Elven of all my minions) to put a different name in the book. Matt had expected Pat to frame Willard (the most gin-soaked of all my minions); he did not.
And so a few days later, I became the first of many to noisily ask "Who the fuck is Eduardo Monteaz?"
Eduardo Monteaz became like a collective imaginary friend. His name could often be found on sign up lists for events and new releases; and occasionally on toilet doors with a suffix to indicate that he had at some point been there. A few years later, when Paul (the most RoboJew of all my minions) got a job testing online flight booking systems, Captain Eduardo Monteaz was used as a dummy passenger; and so at some point the polite lady trapped inside the public address system of an international airport will have proclaimed it to be "the last call for Captain Eduardo Monteaz." And this was all super and fun and doubleplus good.
Then Eduardo Monteaz appeared on Facebook, requesting that all the former minions of the Art Shop (and a select few other associates) be his friend. Except for me, I'm far too anti-social for social networking.
At which point many voices noisily asked "Who the fuck is Eduardo Monteaz?" Fingers were pointed. Conspiracy theories mooted. Tea slurped. Toast eaten.
And a few weeks ago the plot got tar thick when this arrived on our doormat.
For those not given to squinting at computer monitors, it reads as follows:
Dear:
Lady Rebecca, Mistress of the Lovenasium
Ben "Lord High Sideburn" Brooks
Dominic "Benevolent French King" Sugrue
You are cordially invited to attend an evening of eating, drinking and talking.
The eating will be at The Glass Boat in Bristol at 6pm on the 16th June.
A two course meal has been paid for, but I'm afraid you will have to pay for drinks and service.
Reguards,
E. Monteaz esq.
Similar letters were sent to the other minions. And if anyone knows exactly what's going on, they're not telling. "Reguards?" A clever play on words, or a clumsy spelling mistake? Why the 16th of June? Who the fuck is Eduardo Monteaz?
The general consensus is that either a) we will all die in a bizarre and improbable boat disaster, or b) we will enjoy a very nice meal on a boat, sat around a table with an empty chair at it's head.
