Zach Claywell

Bernard and the Cretaceous Career

I stood in the elevator next to a very proper gentleman trying not to make eye contact. Each ding downward compounded my relief. Seven floors to go. The third ding announced itself. The doors slid open and the relieving emptiness I expected was shattered. The dinosaur nonchalantly entered the elevator. He wore a business suit. He said hello. I glanced at the gentleman. We politely looked back to the glowing lights, waiting for the dings.

They looked at him the way men always did. Sure, he was a velociraptor in a business suit, but did he deserve this treatment? At best he received a painfully awkward silence; both men edging toward the walls of the cabin. At worst they screamed in terror at the sight of him. It always made him so terribly sad and angry. No one understood him. When the men got off the elevator, he looked down at the claw sticking out of his loafers and sighed.

When I exited the elevator, I turned to the gentleman in disbelief.

“Did you see that?”

“I certainly did,” he said.

“I’ve never seen anything like that in my life!”

“Oh,” said the man, looking away from me.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“You’re in the marketing department, right?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s your new boss.”

“Oh,” I said, looking away from him.

He walked through the park on his way home. Everywhere he looked old men cowered and mothers shielded their children. How could they be so ignorant? If he were prowling fiercely with blood dripping from his claws, he could understand their worry. As it stood, the only thing on his claws was the briefcase that he balanced awkwardly on his steak-knife fingertips. Did they not consider his custom-made Gucci suit? He was obviously intelligent enough to tie his own tie and order custom-made suits. That made him smarter than the snotty brats the mothers protected in the parks.

He made it to his apartment building. The doorman let him in.

“Good day, sir!” said the doorman.

“Thank you Charles,” he said appreciatively.

He fumbled with his keys for an aggravatingly long time. They jingled furtively from his door just off the lobby.

“Help with your keys, Bernard?” asked Charles.

Bernard sighed painfully. “Yes please, Charles.”

Charles smiled. He took the key from Bernard’s claw, slid it in and turned in one smooth motion. He placed the key ring back on the claw and turned to walk back to his post.

“Thank you Charles.”

“No problem Bernard.”

Bernard shut the door. He collapsed on the couch and fell asleep with the TV on.

I arrived at work the next day, and frankly I was a little upset. Not only did a dangerous and supposedly extinct creature just become my boss, it stole the job I had always wanted. I suppose somehow surviving over thirty-six million years and learning to speak was an amazing feat, but more amazing than the TTP project that I led last year? That revolutionized our industry and put our company on the map; all while going 32.7% under the gross annual fiscal year-end accounting budget fund! The effect on our shareholders was enormous, and now a Michael Creighton character comes to reap my reward. Goddamn affirmative action.

I went to Gary, the head of Human Resources to discuss this. Gary, I said, Gary you can’t let this Michael Creighton character waltz in and steal my job! Doesn’t anyone remember the TTP project? Gary looked at me and said, I kid you not, I’ll see what I can do about it. See what he can do about it! I said, Gary, a man is not a fruit! He laughed and said, a man is not a dinosaur either.

Can you believe that?

“Bernard,” said the young intern popping his head in Bernard’s office, “Gary from HR would like to see you.”

Bernard got up and walked the maze of hallways to Human Resources. Gary was probably going to snivel and give some politically correct policy announcement that “Human” Resources was now going to be named “Living Being/Employee” Resources. Bernard would have to thank him for his generous understanding of his condition of existence and smile very large for the photo op. He finally made it to the large oak door of HR.

“Go on in,” said the nice receptionist by the door.

“Thank you,” said Bernard, he opened the door.

“Come on in, Bernard!” said Gary warmly. It seemed redundant, considering that he had already opened the door to come in. Bernard ignored this silliness. “Have a seat!”

Bernard came to the chair and curled his tail around so that it laid across his lap. He sat attentively.

“Bernard, I’ve been receiving…concerns,” he paused far too long before “concerns”. No one had ever accused Gary of being subtle.

“I’ve only been here for a day and a half,” he said.

“I know that but…” he paused again. He was truly a terrible speaker. How did he get this job? Get any real job? I suppose this wasn’t a “real job” where you actually “did” things or produced any form of actual usefulness to society. It was the kind of job where you hid until you were old enough to receive retirement. Then if you were lucky you got a party with cake and a faux gold wristwatch.

“But what?”

“But…yesterday at the copier you said some…well, let’s just say Virginia was concerned.”

“It was jammed! All I said was, ‘I’m going to kill this damn machine’!”

“I know that, Bernard, I know that. But you just can’t say that in this setting, you should know that!”

“This is because I’m a dinosaur, isn’t it? If Scott or Steve said that no one would bat an eye! I heard Virginia threaten a coffeemaker later that day! Gary, you have to know this is discrimination!”

“I know that, Bernard, I know that.”

“So…now what? Am I fired?”

“I think you should collect your things.”

“Fuck you Gary.”

“Excuse me?”

Bernard had already stood up and swung his tail like a miffed woman throws on a scarf around her neck. He stormed out of the office, through the halls and toward the elevator.

I stood in the elevator alone. It was only noon and I was getting lunch. Ding. In walked a six foot tall velociraptor. A six foot tall velociraptor with my job. Oh boy if his claws weren’t the size of my head would I ever give him a piece of my mind!

“Hello,” I said to him nonchalantly.

“Hey,” he said dejectedly.

“So I hear you’re my new boss!” I said as politely as possible.

“Not anymore.”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yeah. That bastard Gary fired me for being a dinosaur.”

“Oh, you’re dinosaur? I had no idea! How is that?”

“Shut the hell up.”

I noticed the rage in his eyes. I slowly panned down to his teeth, razor sharp and as big as Bic pens. Down, down past his blade-like fingers and down to the scythes sticking out of his loafers. I was stuck in this elevator with a six foot tall angry dinosaur.

He noticed the terror in my eyes and sighed sadly.

“I’m sorry. People always think I’m about to eat them. It’s just not fair!”

I sympathized with him. I patted him on the back.

“Hey, why don’t we go get a drink? I’m already going out to lunch.”

“That’d be nice,” Bernard said, with a childlike smile.

We got off the elevator together. People in the lobby leapt away in terror. With each scream of fright, we chuckled a little louder. We were laughing uproariously as we went through the sliding doors and made our way to the sunny street.