There they were, sincere businessmen, these uncles of mine, sitting around a table in that yellowed 1950s-style office, smoking their cigars and making decisions about me.
“He does an OK job,” Otto said.
“Usually,” Ernest qualified.
“But his tools are not up to snuff,” Euge diminished.
“He has ambition, though,” Ernest augmented.
“Maybe too much,” Euge reduced.
“Sometimes I can’t remember his name,” Otto said.
He had memory problems occasionally, ever since getting injured in a train bombing during the very last days of the war.
“We should give him work,” Ernest said.
“I’ve got to go. Wife’s waiting,” Otto said.
“I’ll find out what the minimum wage is,” Euge said in conclusion.
– James Steerforth (© 2015)
Only mostly fictional people were insulted, injured or slandered in the making of this story.