A lion walked into a management consultancy. He said to the guy at the front desk, ‘I want to see the man in charge.’
The man in charge turned out to be a woman.
‘What is it you want?’ said the woman in charge.
‘Just a little of your time,’ said the lion, shaking out his mane. The woman had a thick middle and shapely loins, like his last gazelle. He would have to work hard to keep his focus.
‘Time is money, you know, and my charge-out rate is extreme.’
‘I spent all my money on the plane trip from Africa and the in-flight magazine told me your firm was the best.’
She eyed him over tortoiseshell rims. ‘I’ll give you five minutes.’
‘I thank you for that—’ The lion dipped his head. ‘—because I want to learn how to be a success.’
‘What do you mean by success?’ she said.
‘I want to be successful in this…machine.’ The lion flourished a front paw up and out; the woman’s gaze followed its movement from the glass-coated sky to the dark and art-heavy walls.
‘We’re in a foyer.’ She crunched her eyebrows at him.
‘Successful in business,’ the lion said, slowly and deliberately.
‘You’re a lion.’ She reflected his tone, talked down her nose. ‘Why would you want, or need, to be successful in business?’
‘I’ve been doing some reading,’ the lion replied. ‘It seems to me that until I set myself up in a developed country, exist in accord with its systems, and attach some fiscal KPIs, my life won’t have value.’
‘I can not disagree.’ She looked at him intently. ‘Do you have any services to offer? Anything you could sell?’
‘Not really.’ The lion stroked his chin. ‘I see no real benefit to being ogled in a cage, a la my zoo-bound countrymen. And my particular skills are jungular, associated mainly with open-space stalking and killing. For food, of course.’ He chuckled to himself and patted his rumbling belly. ‘Only hunt for food.’
‘Speaking of hunting, there is always the value of your pelt.’ The woman did not bat an eyelid when she suggested it. ‘But I suppose you want to live.’
‘That would be helpful, yes.’
‘A shame,’ said the woman. ‘And I would help you further, however your time is up.’
‘You’re harsh! My watch says it’s been only four minutes—’
‘The business world is harsher than a jungle.’
‘—and you’ve been rather vague as to what I can do,’ said the lion who, in spite of his words, was starting to get an inkling of what it was that would bring him business success.
‘All right,’ said the woman. ‘I like to think I’m fair. I’ll think on that a bit longer for you.’
‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ said the lion, unsheathing his claws — but in four, he was on the Terrace with a pop-up stall, selling chunks of free-range meat and salted crackling.
*
This story was first published in Pulp Literature (Issue 27, Summer 2020) after being shortlisted for the 2019 Hummingbird Prize. Sharing here and now because I just re-read it, and it still brings me a smile.
[feature image: photo of the lion above the H&M sign, at the Melbourne GPO store, taken by Hannah in August 2023]
thirtyseven 