I suppose the office ninja must adapt to its environs. Not much good being ‘silent but deadly’ if you need to attend meetings and present financial reports.
Cut to: boardroom, morning, somewhere in Australia. Office stiffs populate a large table, sitting upright in their ties and specs, Mont Blancs at the ready. In the corner, a ninja. Perched in Spiderman squat, complete with black garb, mask and Samurai.
Could be a touch conspicuous, wot.
This logic notwithstanding, I nearly keel over when I rock up to my regular Monday meeting to find my nefarious foe in attendance. She was the first to arrive (dammit) and sat at the head of the expansive table … figuratively stroking her fluffy, white pussy.
Not a euphemism you perv, just a Bond reference.
The meeting commences without further a nemesis – ninja at one end, hitman at the other. As nature intended. We slowly begin to circle the table in a dance as old as time (aka deathly-dull business updates). She sits, eyeing each person as they speak their turn. Though her gaze lingers on me, my poise remains aplomb. I sip my metaphorical martini.
The room seems to rotate towards her as it comes time for the ninja to speak. I’m ready for her to mime, coolly of course; to use sign language, or simply incline her head ever so slightly. I’m certain she will keep her ground and me guessing …
“Ath you can thee … we thythematically threamlined the thythems to create greater effithenthies”.
Exsqueeze me, baking powder? Mouth, open. Chin, floor. Ninja … lisp?
Look, I aint casting aspersions on those fine folk who occasionally thruggle with the letter s. But in the first Reveal of the nemesis ninja, it’s fair to say that I was unprepared.
This double take is soon followed by an extended foetal when, ten minutes later, my ears are bleeding from a neverending barrage of words flying from her nimble ninja tongue. She hurtles them towards my hitman head, like artfully aimed throwing stars. I barely get out of the way before a reporting deadline whooshes by me, taking out the guy next to me.
Sorry, pal. It’s you or me. I aint goin’ down like that.
I return with gunfire, my trusty sidearm raised instinctively … criteria, BAM! statistics, POW! project guidelines, SHAZAM! The Batman bubbles loiter for a moment, before fading away. She falters but parries well, pulling out a pair of … uh oh. Nunchucks. She gets me with two, sharp taps upside the head and I go down like Monica Lewinsky. We’re talking a month of work, at least. I’m up to my eyeballs in it. I check the chamber, but I’m out. Damn.
My first mistake had been the one that had cost me the most. Always know your opponent. Eliminate the element of surprise, or it could eliminate you. As a seasoned hitman, I had known this was paramount to my survival. She’d taken me out like a rookie on my first day.
I tip my imaginary hat, albeit resentfully. Well done, old bean. To you go the spoils. But you will not find the victory quite so glorious when next we meet … oh no, you shall not.