Memo to the Higher-Ups

(my Effective Business Writing professor makes us submit a hard copy of our first draft along with the finished assignment for no other reason than to penalize getting things right the first time.  This time I decided "fuck it, might as well make the first draft funny."  Enjoy.   Note that "Marty Chernov" was the fictitious person named in the assignment in the textbook.)

To:    Marty Chernov

From:    Fox Doucette

Date:    September 14, 2010

Subject: The Loan Ranger: Getting That $35,000 Funding

In advance of your meeting with John Garrison Boyd IV at Metropolitan Bank tomorrow, I have prepared this list of tips to ensure that your communication impresses the city-slickers and Mr. Drysdale wannabes at the bank so our salvage yard can secure the funding it needs to break more junk into smaller junk more efficiently.

Stand tall and give a firm handshake to Mr. Boyd when you meet him.  Your posture will project our company as a strong player in the salvage industry and show yourself as worthy of Mr. Boyd's trust.  Smile; the James Gammon impression you call a management style may work with the guys in the yard (especially at the company softball game; we love the Major League act) but it may not go so well in a professional setting.

Speak like you want to be heard.  Now is not the time to let your voice waver; speak as if the loan's acceptance is a matter of mere formality and if necessary, use that booming baritone of yours to good effect.

It probably goes without saying that you should show up on time, but since you haven't been in the office before 11:00 since Ronald Reagan was still President, I suppose anything is possible.  You don't need a management consultant; you need to dig your dead mother out of the ground and get the old shrew to teach you your manners afresh.

Might want to pop a Valium while you're at it; you twitch like a Tourette's sufferer on meth when you forget to take your medication and quite frankly the boys out in the yard are amazed you've never gone Redd Foxx on us and had a heart attack while moaning for that wife you sent to an early grave---long may Mrs. Chernov rest in peace, the poor dear.

Wear your best suit.  No, not that cheap suit you got at Don's Draperies for a buck fifty back in 1978.  I mean a real suit.  I'll send my girlfriend to bring you to Men's Wearhouse, but after she gets that job done you owe me about five cases of beer to get me through all the nights she'll make me sleep on the couch.

In closing, Marty, you may be a drunken lout with the business sense of a chimpanzee, but you're OUR damn dirty ape and we love you.  Now get out there and get us that loan.