Someone must have been telling lies about Chuck Roastt. Or perhaps someone had made a mistake. He knew that he had done nothing wrong, but one morning without warning, he was arrested.
Every weekday morning, he arose, showered, shaved, and dressed for the upcoming workday. He always dressed professionally. He enjoyed dressing professionally. He always wore a white cotton, long-sleeved, button-down, oxford cloth dress shirt; a beautiful silk necktie; navy dress slacks; a black leather belt; black socks; and black leather dress boots.
Though he had ironed them the night before, Chuck Roastt ironed his white cotton, long-sleeved, button-down, oxford cloth dress shirt white and navy dress slacks again to make sure that he looked his very, very best. He put on his white dress shirt first and then his navy dress slacks. He winced because they were still very warm, almost hot. He yelped, “That must be what it feels like to be cooked! ” He shuddered as the morbid but fascinating thought of being cooked flashed involuntarily and uneasily across his unwilling mind. He thought to himself, “But I don’t want to be cooked! I wonder where that odd, threatening thought came from?
Then he threaded his necktie around his muscular neck under the collar of his white cotton, long-sleeved, button-down, oxford cloth dress shirt. He tied a neat four-in-hand knot in it and cinched his necktie snugly around his neck. He was a little too enthusiastic and tightened it so much that he began to choke. Bemused and alarmed, he said to himself, “And THAT must be what it feels like to be hanged! ” He shuddered again as he imagined dropping from the platform of a gallows with a noose around his neck.
With those slightly threatening thoughts in mind, he noted, not for the first time, that a necktie was like a little noose that men had to wear to be well dressed, and to follow the rules that someone else had written and enforced. Those rules dictated that men must wear white shirts and neckties to be successful and for women to want them, but he shrugged his muscular shoulders and sighed resignedly. He said to himself, “If that’s how men must dress to be wanted, to fit in, to hang on, and to become what they are destined to be, then I’ll wear a white shirt and tie, too, and I’ll like it!”
Then he finished dressing himself. He put on his black leather belt, his black socks, and his black leather dress boots that he had spit-polished to a high shine the night before.
He admired himself in the mirror. He looked good, very good, in his white cotton, long-sleeved, button-down oxford cloth dress shirt and his navy silk necktie with preppy, diagonal red and white stripes. Yes, he looked good. Indeed, he looked damn good!
He didn’t protest the strict dress code at his office as many men might. In fact, he wanted it, and he didn’t mind it at all. He liked the way he looked when he dressed up that way. He thought that the women in his office paid more attention to him when he did. He was right, but he didn’t yet know precisely the extent and the intent of their attention.
Of course, the dress code applied to all the other people at his office, too. The other men, the women, and his even boss, Bonnie Cook, followed the strict dress code. In fact, it was Bonnie Cook who had initiated the dress code and demanded that everyone rigorously adhere to it or face unspecified punishment.
Just as he did, the other men also wore white cotton, long-sleeved, button-down, oxford cloth dress shirts; navy silk neckties with preppy, diagonal red and white stripes; navy dress slacks; black leather belts; black socks; and black leather dress boots.
The women were dressed similarly. They wore white cotton, long-sleeved, button-down, oxford cloth dress shirts; red skirts; black leather belts; and black leather high heels. Although they were not required to wear neckties, many of them often wore red silk neckties with preppy, diagonal navy and white stripes.
Boss Bonnie Cook always wore a white cotton, long-sleeved, button-down, oxford cloth dress shirt; a red skirt; a red silk necktie with preppy, diagonal navy and white stripes, a black belt, and highly polished, shiny, black high heels. The men and women in the office could tell when she was on the move because they could hear the urgent click of her demanding and dominating high heels on the hard floor. She was most definitely a high-powered, no-nonsense executive, and her orders were to be executed immediately without question, without hesitation, and without deviation. To demonstrate her position as chief executive, she hung a noose from a beam near the ceiling in one corner of her office that bore a sign reading, “I WILL NOT HESITATE TO USE MY EXECUTIVE AUTHORITY!” All the men thought that she was joking; all the women knew that she was not.
Bonnie Cook used unusual judicial, penal, punishment, and farm animal metaphors to conduct business.
She kept a 2-foot-tall working model of a gallows on her desk complete with a little doll, a noosed man, a victim wearing a white shirt and a tie standing on the platform of the gallows waiting to be hanged. During staff meetings, she would emphasize her points and end the meetings by pulling the little lever on the gallows platform and hanging the doll that she had had specially made. His little jointed neck audibly snapped, and his little head was jerked to his right when he reached the end of his rope when he was hanged, and he let out a little cry when his neck broke. No one ever disagreed with her. She dominated meetings, and she dominated everything and everyone else at the office. Her words and her will were law.
The women idolized and respected her. They looked up to her as a role model, a mentor, a leader, and a boss. They would happily and instantly obey any order she gave them; they would execute any plan she ordered. They dressed like she did because of the dress code, of course, but their white cotton long-sleeved, button-down, oxford cloth dress shirts and red silk neckties with preppy blue and white diagonal strips also showed their devotion to her, strengthened by a special secret that they shared with her and with each other, a delicious secret, indeed. Their devotion to her added to the strength she had and the domination she displayed.
The men, on the other hand, were afraid of her and intimidated by her. They respected Bonnie Cook and obeyed her orders because they had to, not because they wanted to. She could hire them and fire them at will, and because of that, in a way, she had the power of life and death over them, and she constantly reminded them of that. To emphasize that point, she would often grasp a man’s necktie and use it as a leash to lead him around like an animal, shouting, “I’m leading this beef to slaughter! He deserves to be slaughtered and cooked!” to humiliate him and make him do whatever she wanted.
Occasionally, she would grab a man’s necktie and tighten the knot so tightly that the necktie became like a hangman’s noose around his neck, and he would begin to gag and choke like a man being hanged. Bonnie Cook would flatly announce that she had the power of life and death over the men saying, “See? I can execute a man anytime I want!”
The men thought that she was speaking metaphorically; the women knew that she was not.
When she said something like that, the men laughingly shrugged it off attributing it to her eccentricity and harsh management style; the women waited silently and hungrily for the special dinner that they knew was soon to come.
One time, to punish him for some misfeasance unknown to him, Bonnie Cook ordered Chuck Roastt to stand at attention by the noose in her office while he was wearing a white cotton, long-sleeved, button-down dress oxford cloth shirt and his navy silk necktie with prepper diagonal red and white stripes. She strode over to him and put the noose around his neck. He had to stand there at attention for an hour before she dismissed him. Fortunately, he did not trip, and his knees did not buckle so he didn’t hang himself … although she seemed disappointed that he hadn’t.
Because Bonnie Cook had the power of life and death over Chuck Roastt, he knew it, … and she knew it, too, and she often secretly licked her lips as she dreamed about hanging him, cooking him, and eating him.
But that was at the office. Still at home and getting dressed for work, he looked at himself in the mirror again. He was fit, trim, and muscular, and he knew it, and these clothes showed off his well-muscled physique. He liked being ogled by the women in the office. As the old saying went, he looked good enough to eat, and he knew it.
What he didn’t know was how accurate that adage was. He didn’t know that he would soon be at the end of his rope, and he didn’t know how brief and how hot—how oven-hot—his future would be.
But unbeknownst to him, Bonnie Cook knew. Every time she saw him in the office wearing his white cotton, long-sleeved, button down oxford cloth dress shirt and his blue silk necktie with preppy diagonal red and white stripes, she secretly plotted to make that future happen and licked her lips as she did because she also thought he looked good enough to eat … and she was going to eat him after she had hanged him and cooked him.
Blindly unaware Chuck Roastt thought that his life was going great, and today was no exception. He looked great, and he felt great. The pain in his neck that he had gotten from doing neck strengthening exercises at the gym the day before still ached, but it was less noticeable and bothersome. He was on top. Nothing could go wrong. He wouldn’t drop, he wouldn’t fall, he wouldn’t break, and he would never be fired. In fact, he would never even feel any uncomfortable heat.
Or so he thought.
