IMAO World Headquarters

It was a dark an stormy night.

Actually, it was morning. And the sun was shining through the clouds. And no rain was forecast. But, apart from that, it was a dark and stormy night.

Basil awoke with a start. It was the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming down the hall. He looked at his watch and confirmed the date and time.

“Okay, it’s 7 o’clock, and yeah, people should be coming in, but it’s Memorial Day. We’re closed today,” Basil said to no one.

“Who are you talking to?” no one replied.

“Myself.”

“You ever think that’s not healthy?” no one asked.

“I’m fine. But I do appreciate your concern,” Basil said, realizing no one really cared.

Basil also realized the steps were getting closer. He sat up on the cot, fumbled for his shoes, and crept over to the door.

Sure enough, those were footsteps. Someone was in the office early on a holiday. Maybe it was robbers. He could capture the robbers and he’d be a hero and then Harvey would give him a real office and not this supply closet with shelves of copy paper, ink pens, Post-It Note pads, and stacks of boxes of chips and snacks for the vending machines. A real office. With “IT Department” actually engraved on a sign and not scrawled across the door below a “Supply Closet” sign. That would be …

The footsteps were very clear now. Whoever it was, he was right outside.

Basil turned the knob and pulled the door open and rushed outside, yelling “Got you, you robbers, you!”

The man in the hallway said, “That’s quite an odd greeting to start someone’s day. Most say ‘Hello,’ ‘Hi,’ or even just ‘Hey.'”

Basil stood silent for a few seconds, sizing up the situation. Then, “Wait. I know you. You’re that fellow…”

Oppo said, “You can call me ‘Oppo’ since most people do. And what, pray tell, sir, would you have me call you?”

“Oppo? You’re the guy that writes those song parodies in the comments,” Basil said.

“Yes, sir, that’s me. I sometimes write verse. It’s often quite fun, but sometimes a curse,” Oppo replied.

“He writes more that just song parodies, Basil,” Harvey said. “You ought to read more that just the comments to your posts, you know.”

Basil spun around and saw the IMAO office manager standing in the hallway, watching the conversation.

“Oh, hi, Chief. I didn’t see you there.”

“You’ve met Oppo, I see.”

“Yeah, Chief. I’ve seen him down in the lobby leaving comments, but this is the first time I’ve seen him up here on these floors.”

“Well, you might see more of him around. This morning, in fact, he’s posted a poem he left in the comments the other day.”

“I thought you usually took them and wrote posts and credited him,” Basil said.

“Yes. But he can do that himself now. He can take a comment he leaves, whether it’s a song parody, or a poem, or one of those questions he leaves for you, or anything really, and post it himself.”

“What do you mean, ‘anything?'”

“I mean exactly that. If he gets an idea for something, he can post it. It doesn’t have to be a re-post of a comment. It can be anything at all. He doesn’t need my permission, he already has it. And he certainly doesn’t need yours.”

Oppo spoke up, “Excuse me good sirs, but I must step away. It seems nature’s calling; I should not delay.” And, with that, he stepped into the mensroom next to the Supply Closet IT Department.

Basil turned back to Harvey. “Why him? And why spend the money on him? I could use a raise.”

“He writes good stuff. Heck, he writes more than you do, and you’re on staff. Now, with him on staff, he can write stuff and help me out.”

“I write stuff,” Basil protested.

“Open Thread? That’s you posting the last YouTube video you watched then asking others to write stuff in the comments. Yeah, they write some really good things there, but that’s not much out of you.”

“I do more than that.”

“That ‘Ask IMAO Anything?’ All you did was rip of the old ‘Frank Answers’ posts.”

“That’s not true. I also ripped off Spacemonkey with that. It’s a hybrid ripoff.”

Harvey continued, “That doesn’t make it any better. And those occasional polls? You ask a question, give three answers, and hope the audience finds the third one funny. You ripped that off of from some morning drive show you heard on the radio.”

“I also will do a ‘Behind the Scenes’ post sometimes…”

“You mean those ripoffs of Frank’s ‘In My World’ posts? Do something original and we’ll talk about a raise,” Harvey said. “Anything else?”

“He talks funny.”

“Have you heard your accent? You sound like somebody trying to do a bad Gomer Pyle imitation.” Harvey paused for a moment. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Back to work.”

“It’s a holiday,”

Harvey pointed to the Supply Closet IT Department. “Just go back to whatever it is you do when you aren’t bothering me.” With that, he walked away.

Basil turned as the door to the mensroom opened, and Oppo emerged.

“I hope my presence isn’t causing any grief. And I hope my stay here is more than just brief,” Oppo said.

“No, I’m sorry if I got us off on the wrong foot. I enjoy your stuff, actually.”

“Those words are quite kind, and I’m grateful for that. Let’s speak then no more of this short little spat.”

Basil nodded, “I won’t speak of it again. And certainly not Tuesday morning at 9 AM.”

Basil waved as he turned. “Welcome aboard, Oppo.”