The Word of The Day is PISMIRE.
“The whole situation is a blooming pismire,” James said, his voice raised several octaves higher. This was the tenth meeting of the brewery’s budget for the next year and they were no further in saving any money.
“I don’t hear you come up with anyway of being able to pay our staff, and make the best quality lager our customers deserve.” He wanted to say, he couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery, but avoided that cliché by thumping he hand on the elm table. “We have no choice but to get rid of staff.”
The rest of the boardroom didn’t want to get involved in this, but a young woman, who was handing out the teas, cautiously raised her hand. ”I have an idea,” she said.
Both men guffawed at her slim frame, but she didn’t move her hand.
“You’re just a trainee, and a woman at that,’ Robert said.
“A woman, who has watched you make a mess of things. Your staff are unhappy, and your methods expensive. I have an idea that will half your production cost. I’m sorry sir, but it isn’t about getting rid of staff. Most of these people, my father included, have worked here for many years. They deserve to be treated with respect, not thrown on the scrapheap.”
“So . . . What is your idea?” the chairman asked.
“I have been working on a beer that costs next to nothing to make. I’ve been working on it for two years,” she said, and produced a small flask from her pocket. As it poured into an empty mug, she smiled.
It was the best she ever made, and without doubt, would stop the brewery from closing. As he took a sip, then another, she knew it would work. It had a sweet, almost soft taste and would save her father his job.
She had learnt off the best, and now she would make her dad proud.