Executive Black - A Short Story

Executive Black

The seventh floor of the skyscraper overlooked the busy streets of Accra. From up there, everyone looked like ants, with the cars and trucks resembling toys from his son's toy box. He wondered what the building looked like from down there, walking down the street and looking up at the big bold corporate letters that spelt 'AFRICAN TRADE HOUSE'. He didn't know anymore; he owned a car now.

Frank Adu-Amoah took a moment to tug at his shirt collar. Mondays demanded corporate attire: preferably a plain coloured dress shirt over a pair of trousers and matching loafers. The suit coat was optional, though judging by the number of corporate black suits moving about below it was obviously a preferred option. Frank was no exception, his own coat hanging cozily over his seat in the office. There was a sense of pride that came with wearing a coat, an elevation when heads turned, and people regarded you with a new greater sense of respect than the average person. Executive, the coat would say arrogantly, class. It gave the wearer a heightened feeling of importance, even if the wearer was no more than an intern. It also gave the wearer a heightened experience of Ghana's heat although it was torture easily remedied by the air conditioning of car and office space.

If you owned a car, Frank thought, staring down at the black suits scrambling indoors to escape the hot sun.

Frank glanced at his watch and sighed. Lunch break was over, and work was to be resumed. Reluctantly he took one final glance out the window before returning to the office. This time he caught the glimpse of a familiar red car park in front of the building. His heart skipped a beat.

His job as an auditor was many things: demanding, meticulous, numerical, at times physically tasking. He would not describe it as fun. He took his seat in the small space of an office and resumed work. At least the office had air conditioning; thank God for small mercies.

Suddenly, the office door swung open aggressively, and a tall slim woman in a hijab strode in. His heart skipped another beat as anxiety sunk in. Instinctively, he greeted her to which she replied sternly. Then, glancing at the empty seats in the office, she asked, "Where are Martha and Kwamena?"

Frank shrugged. "They're probably still out for lunch."

She frowned and muttered something under her breath before disappearing into the inner room that was her office. Frank let out a short sigh of relief.

Martha and Kwamena were co-workers of his, fellow auditors with whom he shared the crammed office space. The tall, slim, stern woman was their boss. Esther Habibah Kumi was the director of the audit department, a job she worked as religiously as her faith. To upper management, she was a valuable asset to the company and a competent leader. To lower and middle management she was a strict disciplinarian of a boss who was almost authoritarian in her execution of her position. Don't get it wrong: Habibiah did her work well, almost perfectly. The problem was she did her work well and almost perfectly. Religiously diligent workers are seldom treated with deserving respect in a workplace lacking diligence.

The office telephone rang. Glancing at the screen, Frank sighed as he picked up.

"Come to my office," said the stern, unwelcoming voice of his boss as he answered with a "Hello". Religiously, he obeyed.

"Have those two come back yet?" she asked as soon as he walked in.

Frank shook his head, ignoring the books and awards meticulously arranged on the shelves behind her desk. "No, please," he replied.

She shook her head and muttered something about "this generation" and poor work ethics. She then brought his attention to a memo that laid before her.

"Have any of these items arrived yet?" she inquired. The items in question were toiletries purchased for the next month.