People often ask, “Who exactly in charge of the Federal Bureau of Foreign Culinary Relations?” Usually this is in the context of questions such as, “Who’s in charge here?! I’ve been sitting in this waiting room for three months!” It also comes up when we are asked, “Don’t you ever get anything done? Where is your manager?!”
We normally don’t like to talk about this, since we prefer to think of ourselves as independent investigators who answer to no one, but the reality is that our agency is in fact controlled by a secretive quintumvirate that only rarely allows itself to be photographed.
Unfortunately, all of your recent complaints caused us to receive a surprise visit from the FBFCR leadership, and believe me, that wasn’t a pleasant experience. They berated us for our overall lack of productivity, and especially for our unhelpful attitude toward the Secret Society of Artificial Potatoes. Apparently we’re supposed to actually help troubled tubers instead of just sitting around eating junk food.
Before any more of you complain, I’d like you to see just what we’re up against. Pictured above, you see the managers who will punish us even more severely the next time one of you says that we’re a bunch of lazy bums who never get anything done. From left to right, our bosses are: Angie, Jerry, the Helmuts, and Lil’ Willy. You probably only have one boss. We have five different bosses right now. As you can see, Angie is the big boss. Jerry is Angie’s right-hand man, except when he’s on her left. The Helmuts always travel as a pair, so that reduces the effective number of boss combinations that we might encounter. But they’re still two bosses, and it’s like a full-fledged tag-team beat-down when they’re on your case. The only thing worse is when Lil’ Willy decides to take matters into his own hands. I don’t think I could survive that for a second time.
So, next time you have a bit of a disagreement with your boss, just think of us and our supervisory situation. At least you don’t have to spend half your time trying to find a place to hide from the Helmuts.