Reputation Is a Fragile Thing, Especially When It Screeches

Marvin McCrackle left the building in a daze.

He did not remember walking through the lobby. He did not remember exiting the revolving door (which, mercifully, did not attack him this time). He only became aware of reality again when a pigeon landed on his shoulder and stared at him like a disappointed supervisor.

“Don’t,” Marvin warned.

The pigeon stayed.

Marvin sighed and continued down the street, replaying the interview in his head. The monkey. The window. The laughter. Somewhere in that disaster, something had gone… well. That felt suspicious.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

Marvin flinched before answering. “Hello?”

“Mr. McCrackle,” said a cheerful voice. “This is Corporate Synergy Solutions.”

Marvin stopped walking.

“Yes,” he said carefully, bracing for impact.

“We just wanted to say,” the voice continued, “you made quite an impression.”

Marvin closed his eyes. “I apologize for—”

“We love bold thinkers,” the voice interrupted. “And unconventional teamwork.”

Marvin opened one eye. “You… do?”

“Absolutely. We’ll be in touch.”

The call ended.

Marvin stood there, stunned, while the pigeon finally departed, clearly unimpressed.

“Okay,” Marvin whispered. “Okay. That might have worked.”

That was when a familiar screech echoed from above.

Marvin looked up.

The monkey stood on a traffic light, waving energetically. Around its neck hung a laminated badge.

It was Marvin’s interview badge.

“Give that back!” Marvin shouted.

The monkey screeched louder and leapt onto a passing food truck. The truck accelerated.

“No no no,” Marvin groaned, running after it. “I do not chase monkeys for a living!”

The food truck screeched to a halt at an intersection. Marvin slammed into the side, panting. The driver leaned out.

“Hey! You can’t just—”

The monkey threw something.

A stack of business cards exploded into the air like corporate confetti. They rained down on pedestrians, windshields, and one extremely confused police officer.

The officer looked at Marvin.

Marvin raised his hands. “It’s not my monkey.”

The officer looked at the monkey.

The monkey saluted.

Sirens wailed.

The monkey leapt again—this time onto Marvin.

They both toppled backward into a street performer’s setup, sending juggling pins flying. The performer screamed. The monkey bounced off Marvin’s chest, landed on a mailbox, and finally disappeared down an alley.

Silence followed.

The officer sighed. “Sir. ID.”

Marvin handed it over with the tired obedience of a man who had nothing left to hide.

The officer studied it, then looked back at Marvin. “You’ve had a rough day.”

“Yes,” Marvin said softly. “And it’s still daytime.”

The officer handed back the ID. “Try to keep your… associate under control.”

“I don’t know his name,” Marvin said. “Or his goals.”

The officer nodded like this explained everything and walked away.

Marvin sat on the curb, defeated.

That’s when he noticed the badge in his hand.

The monkey had switched it.

Attached to it was a sticky note.