Page 38 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Eleven

KELLERMAN: (drops papers) Mister Sinclair! I—I thought you and
your wife were going out on the town tonight.

SINCLAIR: Oh, yes, yes, we went to a couple of clubs, but Eloise

got a headache and I took her home. I wasn’t tired, so I thought I’d
drop by the office just to keep the operators on their toes. Puts the
fear of God into ‘em to see the boss at midnight, heh-heh.

KELLERMAN I’ll bet it does! That’s an excellent policy, sir.

SINCLAIR: {looks around room) Anybody else here I could scare?

MORTON: (enters from center quickly) Printer’s jammed so I
thought I’d finish my coffee—oh, hello, Mr. Sinclair.

SINCLAIR: Hmph. Good evening, ah…

KELLERMAN: That’s Henry Morton, one of my junior
programmers.

MORTON: Remember me, sir? I wrote the geographic distribution
of destitute schizophrenics analysis program last year.

SINCLAIR: Oh, yes. Of course. Good bit of work. Well, carry on.
(MORTON gulps coffee and exits center quickly) Must be something
important going on here, Kellerman. Is it the medical officer
performance evaluations?

KELLERMAN: Oh, no, sir. Those are only run once every five
years. But it is getting closer, sir. Year after next, I believe.

SINCLAIR: Urp. Then what the devil are you two doing here?
Not moonlighting an inventory system for your brother-in-law’s
mail-order business, are you?

KELLERMAN: Ha-ha-ha. No, it’s the suicide prediction program
I’ve been working on. You remember our meeting about it last
January?

SINCLAIR: (concentrates) Oh, indeed I do, Kellerman. You just
about twisted my arm off to get approval for this project. I still
think it’s nonsense. You really think you can nail down every
possible variable involved in the suicide rate? I had a hard time
justifying this one to the board, I can tell you that! You better not
leave me out on a limb with this turkey. When is it due?