Briefing on Heels (Patreon)

The clattering of high heels echoed through the production floor, cutting through the loud hum of machinery. John Starcord, a hard-nosed director with an iron will and a reputation as the strictest boss around, now stood before her team of workers, clad in skinny jeans, a white blouse, and heels, looking as if she’d just stepped out of Instagram rather than into a factory.

— So, boys, — John drawled, playfully adjusting her helmet and giving her team a once-over, — I hope you’re all keeping productivity up, just like I said at the last meeting! Remember, I need these boxes ready by the end of the day, okay? And the top performers will get a little treat—a selfie with your favorite boss! — She winked and pressed a finger to her lips, as if she were in front of a boutique rather than amidst roaring machines. The workers exchanged glances, and a muffled chuckle broke the silence. Bill, the shift supervisor, barely held back a smirk.

— John... — Bill drawled, holding back sarcasm, still calling her by the name she insisted on, as if nothing had changed. — Don’t you think you’re a bit out of place here? — He squinted at her towering heels. — Maybe we could get back to reality? This is a factory, not a photo shoot.

John turned to him with a sugary smile, tilting her head flirtatiously. — Oh, Billy, don’t be such a bore! I’m still your boss, which means I decide what’s appropriate here! — She patted his shoulder, then looked around at the others as if gauging their reaction to her "confident style." — By the way, boys, you’re all doing amazing! Keep it up, and maybe I’ll reward you with… yes! A spa day! — John clapped her hands, bouncing in place as if she’d just made the best offer in the world.

The workers glanced at each other, some barely holding back laughter, others struggling to believe this was the same strict director who used to demand reports on every detail.

— Oh, John, — Bill sighed heavily, trying to mask his amusement, — you realize that this place, — he gestured to the noisy production line, — isn’t exactly made for your… beauty talk? Maybe we should just stick to doing our jobs?

John rolled her eyes, twirling a lock of her long black hair. — Oh, Billy, you’re so dull! I’m the director for a reason, okay? I read articles, you know, about motivation and all that. And they say you have to give people positive vibes! So that’s what I’m giving you! — She flashed a big grin, snapping her fingers, and added with a serious tone: — And motivation is the key to increasing productivity!

— Hey, guys, did you hear that? Motivation, wow! And now we’ve got a corporate spa! — Jake, one of the senior workers standing nearby, said mockingly. — We can relax while John here tells us how to perfectly match lipstick shades with a hard hat.

John, oblivious to Jake’s sarcasm, clasped her hands together excitedly. — Oh, Jake, that’s such a great idea! — she exclaimed, lifting her heel and turning her body towards him. — Exactly! The right lipstick totally boosts productivity! By the way, does anyone know where I can get a nude gloss around here? — She asked, her tone as earnest as if she were discussing factory supplies.

Jake coughed to hide his laughter, and stifled chuckles echoed behind him from the other workers.

— John, — Bill interjected, this time struggling to contain his irritation, — we actually need to get back to work, not… talk about makeup. You do realize we have deadlines, right? — He turned sharply toward John, staring her down. — Remember your old self? You might have even written yourself up for these kinds of conversations on the floor.

John squinted, raising an eyebrow as if Bill had insulted her favorite shoes. — Billy, no need to get so upset, okay? I’m still the same John! Just, you know… updated! — She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, batting her eyes in Bill’s direction. — And, for your information, these conversations are essential for team bonding! — She waggled her finger at him as if chastising him, then spun around to the others with a broad smile. — Come on, work hard, so we can be… fabulous!

— Right, fabulous on the factory floor… — Jake muttered with a smirk, ducking his head so John wouldn’t see his grin.

At that moment, a photographer, hired by John for “corporate shots,” entered the factory. The echo of her heels filled the space again as she strutted over, adjusting her blouse and posing like she was about to grace a magazine cover.

— Alright, who’s ready for a killer photo with your fabulous boss? — John shouted, placing one hand on her hip and cocking her head flirtatiously as the workers exchanged exasperated looks. — These photos are for the report… and, of course, my Instagram! — She winked at the photographer, looking more like an influencer than the director of a large factory.

Bill sighed again, hardly believing his eyes.

— John, are we still in a factory? Or is this some kind of show now? — he asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

— Oh, Billy, darling, let’s not be so boring! You should be proud to have such a stylish boss! — John ran her hand down her hip and struck a pose like she’d just stepped off a runway. — I’m representing our company! And photos are part of corporate culture. Don’t you want people to see how cool it is here?

The workers, not wanting to participate in this farce, turned away, pretending to be deeply absorbed in their tasks. The noise of the machines nearly drowned out the conversation, but the exchanged looks and suppressed laughter betrayed their reactions. It was clear no one took this seriously, especially as John—in her new persona—kept gesturing and posing for the photographer, as if the machines weren’t roaring in the background but a sunset beach was.

— Oh, boys, you’re all such killjoys, — John said when she noticed the workers trying to ignore her. — You want productivity? Watch this! — She cast a dramatic glance at the photographer. — Jeremy, snap some shots of me “leading”! Isn’t this inspiring? — John extended her arm toward the assembly line and put on a serious expression, as if conducting a symphony.

The photographer, clearly puzzled, dutifully began shooting, but his expression showed he barely understood how photos at a factory were supposed to be “inspiring.”

Bill, having finally lost his patience, crossed his arms and stood next to John, enunciating each word: — Listen, John, can we talk business? This experiment… was it really worth it? You used to be all about discipline, but now—what even is this? We’re trying to work, and you’re… like you’re in some reality show! The factory isn’t a stage for Instagram. When does all this crap end?

John pouted and fluttered her lashes indignantly, as if Bill had just smashed her favorite mirror.

— Billy, why so rude? “Crap”? That’s a terrible word! We’re all civilized here, right? — She lowered her voice, adding, — Imagine if someone overheard you! — John wagged her finger playfully in his face, as if he were a naughty child.

— We all heard him, John, — Jake muttered quietly behind her, causing restrained laughter to ripple through the workers. — So really, what’s up with this experiment? When does it end?

John stopped suddenly, clutching her hand to her chest as if Jake had revealed some deep truth to her.

— Oh, Jake, you reminded me! — she exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly. — This experiment has changed my life! You see… — She paused, looking around at the team and purposefully adjusting her helmet, — I signed all the papers saying I was up for the changes! I can now, — she put her hand on her chest with dramatic flair, — embrace my true self! There’s something… what was it… yes! Deeply transcendent in that!

— Transcendent? — Jake repeated with a lopsided grin. — John, do you even know what that means?

— Oh, Jake, you’re all so smart here, — she waved a hand dismissively. — I know what I’m saying. And actually, I’m officially not even John anymore! — John clapped her hands, bouncing as the workers watched her with disbelief. — I’m now… Candy Starcord! Just imagine—it suits me so well! — She shut her eyes in mock pride, pronouncing grandly, — Candy Starcord… sounds like a Hollywood star, doesn’t it? Or… an icon!

— “Icon,” — Bill echoed, barely containing his laughter. — So, Candy, is it? We’ll call you that now?

— Oh, Billy, of course! But you can call me John… I mean, Candy! — She giggled like her new name filled her with joy. — It sounds so bold and… fresh, right? — She turned to the photographer. — Jeremy, make sure you get lots of shots; I’m a brand now!

Jake couldn’t hold back a loud snort.

— A brand, huh? Yeah, Candy, you’re now… a factory legend.

— Oh, Jake, don’t be a grump, — Candy frowned, placing her hands on her hips. — It’s just… how to put it, — she awkwardly searched for words, gesturing slowly as if pulling them from thin air, — it’s… innovation in corporate culture! How did that article put it… “embracing radical self-expression”!

Jeremy, the photographer, squinted slightly, assessing the factory lighting.

— Candy, maybe we should take a few by the machines? — he suggested thoughtfully.

— Brilliant idea, Jeremy! — Candy squealed, as if he’d just suggested pure genius. She scurried to the nearest machine, rose up on her heels, and dramatically placed her hand on her hip. — Shoot, Jeremy! I want to look strong and independent! Like… like one of those… um… icons of motivation! — She flashed a broad smile, leaning on the machine as though it were a photo studio prop.

The workers watched in silence, some with heavy sighs, others with hidden grins.

— Alright, boys, let’s all get in for a final shot! — Candy waved them over. — I have to post this on Instagram: “My amazing team at the factory!”