Peter McCarthy was a formidable man -
he'd fire you for breaking his own colour bans,
"No-one who works here should wear red on a Tuesday!"
Oh Peter just liked it when he got his own way!
Pete labelled his lunch in the office fridge
when he was the one who desired to pinch
the most exciting contents of tupperware boxes
claiming the chicken dinner had been stolen by foxes.
His wrath was unrivalled when he was challenged,
all formal complaints just bounced off the 'panel'.
No-one believed that this panel existed
(and any that did, thought it was his Mrs).
His employees not only despised grumpy old Pete
but they plotted rebellion against him whilst he was asleep
- he took a nap at noon behind closed doors
but his workers could tell by the sound of his snores.
One particular Friday, whilst Pete was asleep,
the ringleader, Mike, shouted, "Oh, havoc we'll wreak!
Today is the day that we claim back our freedom
and protect all our lunches; ham sandwiches, edam."
"So what's the plan?" the caretaker wondered aloud.
"Oh it's such a stroke of genius, that Pete himself would be proud!
We all know how much that he detests red
so we'll dress him whilst he sleeps, from his toes to his head.
We'll get red tights, and red shoes, red shorts, a red t-shirt too
and when old Pete wakes he won't know what to do!"
Macy, the manager, scoffed at the thought,
"He's going to wake up whilst we dress him, of course!"
"We just need him to drift into the deepest of sleeps."
Mused Sharon the cleaner as she began to sweep
"But how on earth can we guarantee that?"
Macy's hand on the desk making an impatient tap.
"We all know why Pete takes his nap at noon."
Mike commanded the attention of the whole room,
"The heavier the lunch, the deeper the sleep -
after last year's Christmas lunch he slept for a week."
Although Macy rolled her eyes at Mike's exaggeration
she knew he was right, and he'd got her attention,
"Well what kind of meal do you propose?
You're expecting me to cook a roast I suppose?"
"I wouldn't presume anything quite so sexist."
Mike replied, suppresing all desires to suggest this.
A small voice piped up "I don't mind cooking a roast."
the owner of which was the least likely of folks...
...a timid young guy, who went by the name 'Martin'
"...if you'd like me to, I mean..." his lack of confidence starting.
"Well are you any good?" Mike asked honestly.
"Martin used to be a chef!" Macy shrieked obviously.
"That's settled then," Mike nodded his approval,
"Stage 1 of the plan is Pete's authority removal.
Be sure to raid all your wardrobes at home
for red items we'll use on a short term loan."
Next Tuesday arrived and the atmosphere was electric
no-one could concentrate, it was bordering pathetic.
At midday Pete walked from his office to the fridge
everyone held their breath, not moving an inch.
A satisfied sigh of relief, the office exhaled together,
as Pete turned from the fridge, his hand holding the container
that everyone knew housed the mighty roast pork
that Martin had cooked just the evening before.
"What are you staring at?" Barked a prickly Peter
Everyone pretended to type on their computer.
And so Pete walked back into his room
not suspecting a thing about what he was to consume.
All that was left to do was to wait for the snores
Mike and Macy's ears to Pete's office door.
Mike gave the thumbs up to the rest of the office
and quietly they sneaked in with the stash from their closets.
Inside Pete's office, Mike laid out the clothes
he had managed to bring from his wardrobe at home.
Whilst others spread their offerings out on the floor,
there were so many choices for them to explore!
Whispered arguments broke out over the incriminating outfit;
should it be a glitzy dress or something more classic?
Sharon fought her corner for the cute mini-dress number
But she was out-voted by all but Pete in his slumber.
And so it was decided, the votes had been cast
the outfit for Pete had been chosen at last,
they squeezed and pushed and zipped him into the red,
with Pete sleeping so heavily since he'd been fed.
Off back to work, the workers sneaked out
wondering if this plan could ever work out
and, hearts beating fast, they went back to their desks
trying to keep their wits in check.
It was half past one before Peter woke;
everyone heard as his last snore broke
into cries of, "WHAT THE- HOW DID- OH HELL!
I LOOK LIKE THE BRANDING FOR RAMADA HOTELS!"
Mike exchanged looks with his colleagues -
Pete would guess who had this plan up their sleeves -
of course this one had 'Mike' written all over it
(and so did the label in the back of the outfit).
Peter barged out of his office and into the next room,
his face the same colour red that his attire had assumed,
he was dressed in a red beanie, and a skin tight tunic
Mike's football shorts, and Macy's red tights from Munich.
"Is something the matter?" Mike asked innocently.
"You insolent little brat: you did this to me!"
"I can't think what you're talking about." Mike calmly replied
knowing full well the extent of his lie.
"Mr McCarthy, Sir, I don't mean to be rude."
Macy began, in ear shot of the whole room,
"But isn't your rule that on a Tuesday
if you're wearing red then it's your very own Doomsday?"
Peter paled, he looked decidely ashen,
"Well, I can't imagine I'd have such rules on fashion"
"You fired Dom Rogers when he wore that red tie!"
Martin insisted, his moment to shine.
"How dare you suggest I practice unfair dismissal!"
Peter fired his protest out like a missile
"He's got a point." Mike suddenly agreed,
"He must like red - he's dressed head to toe, can't you see?"
"Don't you get funny with me!"
Pete was not a happy bunny,
"You know I hate red, it's my one and only rule."
"Oh, well I guess you really are a fool...
You either have to leave your job
or accept you need to shut your gob."
Mike had a smug grin on his face
yet knew he'd lost all chance of that raise.
Pete opened his mouth, then closed it again,
he screwed up his eyes and counted to ten,
then eventualy he let out a sigh,
"Well, then, I guess it's goodbye!"
Flinging his red beanie to the floor,
Pete picked up his briefcase and marched out the door.
Too stubborn to backtrack from his self-imposed rule,
Pete had bitten off more than he could chew.
The cheers reverberated around the office,
they'd won, they'd done it, they'd outdone their promise.
With claps on his back, and many high-fives
Mike had never felt quite so alive.
It was a few weeks before the new boss arrived,
out-sourced from a top firm in Shanghai.
He greeted his new colleagues with a simple bow,
and a very polite, "Nice to meet you now."
Feeling like the cat that had got the cream,
Mike wondered if this was all just a dream.
But when he was called in to see the new boss
he was quite concerned to see that he looked rather cross.
"I heard that you were after a raise,
well let me tell you, there'll be no such praise,
I have only one rule, and it goes like this:
if you want to go places, there'll be asses to kiss.
...No, wait, let me make that two rules,
the second is to get rid of insolent fools:
anyone wearing anything other than black
will find himself without a job and out on his back."
Mike opened his mouth to voice a protest,
then realised the colour of his sweater vest.
But Mike was a rebel, and would always resist,
so with a grin he said, "I will never submit."
So that was how our dear hero Mike,
packed up his desk and left on his bike,
but he never regretted overthrowing the dominion
of Peter McCarthy, and his colour opinions.
He only hoped that Martin would rise,
just as Mike had after his predecessor's demise,
because once this new boss had got the, well-deserved, can
there would be no more colours left to ban!
