Our plane touched down at Newark Airport shortly after 1:00 PM.

Jim and I found Emily waiting for us just beyond the final security checkpoint. She tried to hurry us out of the airport terminal, alarmed that we were already behind schedule, but I protested that I needed to retrieve my luggage first.

She gazed at me with a mix of horror and astonishment.

“Tell me you did not check a bag,” she pleaded.

I nodded. I could see her clench her teeth.

She glanced at her phone, then started off at a brisk pace, headed for the baggage carousel. She glared back in my direction, making sure I was following.

Soon thereafter, with my bag gathered, Emily, Jim, and I wound up in yet another limousine, racing away from the airport in the direction of a large Grensfeld Industries facility located someplace called Port Elizabeth, New Jersey.

Some C-Suite muckety-muck had decided that I should be uprooted from my already turbulent existence and flown across the country to address a large gathering of Grensfeld employees at an all-hands meeting.

Now, I’ve sometimes heard people use the phrase, “There’s something rotten in Denmark.”

Why Denmark? I don’t know. Maybe it’s from a movie.

But even if something’s rotten there, I’ll bet that Denmark still smells better than Port Elizabeth, New Jersey.

What sort of sadistic marketing professional would compel my attendance at an event held someplace with such a putrid stench?

As soon as I exited the car I was enveloped by a thick cloud of petrochemical fumes. I was terrified someone would create a spark and we would all go up in flames.

Who could work under such conditions?

I soon found out when I saw Emily approaching, escorting a small man with an abnormally round face, with an abnormally large and pointy nose.

Coupled with the man’s unfortunate natural twitchiness, his tragic resemblance to a sizeable rat simply could not be ignored. I was transfixed. It felt ‘trippy’ like I was living in a cartoon. The man was giving 10/10 rat vibes. I was sure he could be competitive on the national ‘rat man’ circuit if such a thing existed. He was that good!

“Terrence, this is Anthony Caravucci, the general manager of this facility,” Emily explained. “He will be introducing you.”

“Nice to meet you,” I greeted him, shaking his paw.

I’ll admit that, in my shock, I may have stared at the poor general manager’s face a bit too long after we were introduced. He seemed uncomfortable. No doubt I appeared rude. But nature’s wonders are magnificent to behold. And he was a wonder.

We were led up onto a temporarily constructed stage in front of a sizeable crowd of industrial workers, out in the open air, under a sunny sky.

Mr. Caravucci spoke for what seemed like forever. Only when the festivities were nearing completion did he introduce me to the crowd as the company sweepstakes winner, mentioning that I would be saying a few words.

Many eyes were trained upon me. I did not sense great fondness.

As I walked up to speak, not expecting thunderous applause, but hoping for a tenuous base of support somewhere among the crowd — a foundation upon which I could build — I was instead sorely disappointed by the desultory golf clap with which I was greeted.

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I realized that the assembled were probably underpaid employees, and I was someone their company had just given fifty million dollars to, for kicks. It was fair for them not to hold me in the highest esteem. But at least give me a shot to redeem myself, no?

An uncharacteristic measure of self-doubt began to creep in. I was getting thrown off by the hostility I saw in the worker’s faces. I stammered out my opening remarks, unthinking.

“Thank you. I appreciate that warm welcome. I would like to thank Mr. Rat for his very kind introduction.”

Alarm bells started ringing in my brain. What had I just said?

The words were already out of my mouth before I could stop them. I gazed out at the small crowd, watching the puzzled looks on their faces transform into amusement.

I wondered if I should correct myself, but I worried that, if I did, I would only call even more attention to the fact I had just called some poor guy Mr. Rat in front of all his employees. Worse, it was obvious from the snickering in the audience that I had not been the first person ever to do so.

I glanced over at Emily who appeared frozen, as if her brain had completely shut down for her own protection.

I decided to plunge onward. But there was no redeeming the original speech after messing up the very beginning.

I would take the radical honesty approach with this tiny horde of honest laborers. I would try to seem humble, and down to earth, a true man of the people. I genuinely hoped for an opportunity to win their respect.

“Folks, I had a whole formal speech prepared, which would have been as much fun as a pre-flight safety announcement, but I say we just throw it out. What do you say? Why don’t you just ask me some questions instead? Does anybody out there have…”

I was interrupted by a barrage of questions. Most were related to my recent faux pas regarding the general manager’s name, to my great chagrin.

“Did you just call him ‘Mr. Rat?’” a worker — as wide as he was tall — called out, pointing at Mr. Caravucci, wearing a huge grin on his square face.

I cringed, clamping my eyes shut. Things were not going as I had envisioned. What could I say? I did my best to explain in simple terms.

“I don’t remember.”

That had sounded so much better in my head. Out loud? Not so much. There were roars of laughter.

“This guy!” the employee with the squarish head observed, shaking his head at me, expressing his amazement.

“Hey, aren’t you that rich asshole?“ someone called out.

I was completely losing control of the situation.

“Perhaps I should return to the prepared remarks,” I suggested, but they were having none of it.

Proposition: Answer His Question carried the popular vote by at least a 90/10 split. I was obliged to follow the people’s will.

“If you are asking if I have wealthy parents, the answer is yes. I do. But….”

Murmurs of discontent spread throughout the gathered employees. A man cried out.

“That should have been our money. I haven’t gotten a raise in two years, and it seems like money rains down on you. You should give some of it to us.”

I had a flash of recognition. This was how the French Revolution had begun. I needed to deflect the mob to a different target. Why not to the king himself?

“Look, a one-time payment from me would simply be a bandaid. You need lasting relief. Only a union can do that. You should tell Mr. Caravucci over there to stop fattening himself off the labor of the peasants.”

Too bad. I had begun to win them over until I called the employees peasants. Many of my new bandwagon fans jumped off immediately.

“@#$& this! @#$& you! And @#$& Grensfeld Industries!” a man cried out, standing and turning to address his fellow employees. “This idiot isn’t wrong. We’re working hard and getting nowhere. I’m going on strike! Who’s with me?”

Shortly thereafter, I found myself standing in front of a sea of empty folding chairs.

It would seem that the course of events had not been to Mr. Caravucci’s liking.

The incendiary rage revealed in the general manager’s face as he stormed across the stage in my direction made him look like a very angry rat, indeed.

I mentally rehearsed the self-defense moves I had learned from YouTube videos then adopted my best fighting stance. Before I could unleash the lightning, a mountain appeared before me. It was my bodyguard, Jim, moving impressively quickly for a man of such bulk, fending off the general manager who clearly intended to commit felonious assault upon me.

In the meantime, Emily had hooked me by the arm and begun to drag me away.

I would like to believe that Emily didn’t mean the things she said about me over the next several minutes.

We mounted a rapid retreat to our limo, raced away just ahead of the baying mob, and got back to Newark Airport in time for me to catch a return flight to LA.

I would sleep in my own bed that night. I was pleased. It had been an interesting trip, but I was ready to get back home. Twelve hours away had been enough.