Richie “Like That Guy On Happy Days” Cuthbert woke up in his usual state of foggy confusion and struggled to swim to the surface of a deep pool of sleep to reach consciousness. 

He had to get there because he was sure there was something very important that he needed to remember. Something that had happened recently. Something big. Terrifyingly big. 

And as his mind finally broke the surface of the water and he opened his eyes on the familiar sights of his bedroom, he remembered. 

It had started with an email. From the executive in charge of his entire division. And it has asked him to join her in her office “at your earliest convenience. ” And it had included a picture of her, smiling. 

Richie had immediately broken into a cold and clinging sweat. 

In his 28 years of life, things like this had never, ever meant anything good. Invariably, what happened now was that some oh so understanding clutch of office types were going to gently and not unkindly tell him that he was just “not working out” as an employee but that they would be “more than happy” to give him a glowing recommendation and help him find a new job where he would hopefully “fit in” a little better. 

He worked hard. He worked well. Whatever job he was given, he did it with great effectiveness and efficiency. 

But there was just something about him people didn’t like. No matter how hard he tried to just fade into the background and do his work, he inevitably got on people’s nerves, and eventually they decided that the quality of his work didn’t justify the wear and tear on their nervous systems, and they sent him onb his way. 

That’s how he’d gotten this job. And the job before that. And the job before that. And the job before THAT. 

So Richie thought he knew what was coming next. 

And that meant it was time to think the crazy thoughts. 

He thought about running away without even showing up for the meeting. He could just go home,  pack his bags, cash one of his treasury notes, go to the airport, and take the next plane out to wherever it goes. He would simply disappear from people’s lives like a ghost. 

That would serve them right. 

Or he could burst into the meeting, take his pants off, set them on fire, and throw them on the desk, and scream “FIRE THIS. MOTHERFUCKERS!” before peeing the fire out, flipping everyone the bird, and walking out. 

Richie had a lot of confusing thoughts about pee. 

Of course, it was only safe to entertain these insane thoughts because he knew he would never do them. He would do what he always did, which was to do what was expected of him. 

He would show up. nod without comment at the usual spiel, then leave with his golden recommendation in hand, clean out his desk, and go home. 

And there he would stay, barely leaving his bed, for a couple of days, until the icy cold numbness wore off and he could think and move and feel again. And then he’d start looking for work. 

When he arrived at the office of this woman he had never met and who ruled his life like a distant monarch ruled a far-flung colony, Richie was horrified to see that in edition to this potentate were a bunch of other smiling alpha dog types that he vaguely recognized as being other higher echelon division head types. 

And as that mass of executive might party, who should turn out to be there but Double Zed Publishing’s superstar CEO, Charles “Chaz” Piermont, radiating goodwill and bonhomie. 

Richie had never been more scared in his life. And that was saying somethingm, given his nervous temperament. 

He felt like a small but very tasty looking sheep about to enter a room full of large, hungry predators who were all baring their teeth at him. 

He wanted to run, run, run away as fast as he could and not stop until he was on the other side of the Earth from this insane situation, and then wherever that was would be where he lived. 

As he hesitated in the doorway, the lady who had sent him the email (Linda? Lisa? Lois? Something like that.) had smiled warmly and said “Come on in, we don’t bite. ” 

All the alphas had laughed at that. Richie had laughed too,  suddenly, explosively, and briefly.  Then meekly walked into the lion’s den. 

“I bet you’re wondering what this is all about. This must be pretty intimidating for you. Well you can relax – you’re not in trouble and nothing bad is going to happen to you here. ” she said. 

And Richie had relaxed. Some. A little. Less than halway. By a lot. 

“Now do you remember dropping this into the suggestion box some time late last year? ” Linda/Lisa/Lois had said while showing him some sort of document or form. 

And he didn’t remember anything of the sort. He really, really didn’t. Here he was amongst the highest status people he had ever met and he had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. 

Then suddenly, he remembered. 

At last year’s Xmas party, his boss Larry, three cocktails in, had been complaining that nobody ever used the department’s suggestion box. 

Richie, three wine coolers in, had felt a surge of sympathy and had taken one of the suggestion forms and dashed off the first idea that popped into his head, and then with great pomp and circumstance and with everybody watching, he had folded it neatly and put it in the box. 

This had earned him a round of boozy laughter and a smattering of applause from the crowd.

The suggestion had been this : instead of saying an autobiography was written by the subject, say “as lived by. As in, “My Amazing Life, as lived by Very Famous Actor. ” 

“Well, Richie. ” said the L woman, “this suggestion went straight to the top almost right away, and we all loved it so much that… Chaz?” 

“That we implemented it almost immediately. ” said Chaz smoothly. “And it worked. Boy, did it work. Our number crunchers did the math, and according to them, this little suggestion of yours increased sales in our biography division almost 17 percent. ” 

“And that’s just the hardcover sales.  None of the titles involved have gone to paperback yet. We anticipate similar results there as well. ” said someone Richie was pretty sure was the company’s comptroller, whatever that was. 

“Now as you know. we here at Double Zed incentivize innovation by giving our employees a percentage of the profits their ideas create. ” said some woman whose smooth, melodious voice screamed HR, “and it is my pleasure and privilege to give you your first of what I am sure will be many profit-sharing cheques to come your way. ” 

She had then pressed a slip of paper into Richie’s numb but pliant hand. 

“Just our little way of saying thank you. ” said a beaming Chaz, who had then, with a nod, indicated that Richie should look at the check. 

Richie had dutifully lifted the check up and looked at the amount. 

And that’s when Richie’s life exploded. For a few moments, his shock was so profound that the world lost all color and he couldn’t even think. 

Because the amount of the check was $300,000. 

It was so unbeliveable that Richie stared at it, blinking, for ten seconds as the alpha dogs all looked on like parents watching their kid open the biggest gift under the tree on Xmas morning. 

Chaz had then put a fatherly hand on Richie’s shoulder, and gently said “Yes, it’s real, buddy. And it’s all for you. I promise you this is not a trick or a trap. All that cash is for you, with all our thanks. You earned it, buddy. ” 

The rest of the meeting was a blur. Richie remembered drinks appearing seemingly out of nowhere, and an extremely fancy cake, and a lot of people pounding him on the back or shaking his hand heartily in congratulations, and one particular kiss from a buxom lady which had, he was pretty sure, promised him something a little extra. 

But all he had wanted was to escape. The whole thing was too overwhelming for him, so the moment he had felt like he had done all that was expected of him, he had said his polite goodbyes and gone home. 

Once home, he had sat down in his office (which was also the living room, the laundry room, and the dining room), put the cheque down on his desk, and stared at it, trying to figure out how he felt about the whole thing. 

And when his emotions had finally settled down enough to pick a direction and stick with it, his reponse had surprised him. 

He had broken down crying. And not just a few sniffles. Huge tsunami of full, wracking sobs. Tears flowing so fast he could barely see. Snot running like a faucet. The full waterworks, and then some. 

And that’s how it had been for the rest of the evening. After the waters of sadness had retreated, he had rocked between euphoria, paranoia, anxiety, depression, and what could only be described as existential dread for hours on end. Somehow. the day’s events had opened all the floodgates in Richie’s mind, and all he could do was do his best to survive the flood. 

When the waters receded, Richie was a broken man. Trembling and fragile, it had been all he could do to crawl into bed and fall into the black and dreamless sleep from which he had just awoken. 

Once more he tried to figure out how he felt about the whole thing, figuring that if there was more emotional emesis to come, he wanted to get it over with as soon as he could.

But there was nothing left. The truth was, he barely felt anything at all. Emotionally speaking, he was spent. He could feel the tiny nubs from which real emotions would eventually grow, but for now, nothing. 

He decided to try something to see if he could wake himself up. 

Richie deliberately thought, “I can do anything I want with that money. ” 

That sounds good. But there was just one problem. 

Richie hadn’t the slightest idea what he wanted. Nobody had ever asked him before, not even himself. 

So he did the only thing he could think of : 

He rolled over and went back to sleep. 

Maybe things would make more sense when he woke up.