The Time A Manager Taught A Parrot To Answer The Office Phones
I still look at our front desk and think I will see a green bird sitting there. It has been three years since the Parrot Incident at our office, but we still talk about it like it happened yesterday. Our boss, Arthur, was a man who lived in his own world. He was the kind of person who wore a sweater vest in the middle of summer and spent his lunch breaks reading books about corporate efficiency. One rainy day, the atmosphere in our office was particularly dull. The grey clouds were pressing against the windows, and the sound of typing was the only thing filling the room. Arthur walked in carrying a large birdcage covered with a heavy, dark cloth. He moved with a sense of nervous excitement that made all of us pause our work. He placed the cage on the empty desk near the lobby entrance and cleared his throat. He gathered us around and announced that he had a brilliant new idea to streamline our operations. He claimed we were losing too many minutes every day just getting to the phones. With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the cloth away to reveal Rico, a very observant-looking African Grey parrot. The bird stared back at us with intelligent, bead-like eyes. Arthur explained that he had been training Rico at home and that this bird was the future of our front office. We all stood there in stunned silence. Nobody knew if we were supposed to laugh or call someone for help. Sarah from accounting looked at me with her mouth slightly open, clearly waiting for a punchline that never came. Arthur spent the next three weeks behind his closed door with Rico. We could hear him repeating the same phrase over and over, his voice echoing through the thin walls. He was teaching the bird to say, Thank you for calling, please hold. We all thought he was completely losing his mind, but we were so buried under our quarterly reports that we didn't have the energy to fight him on it. We just let it happen, assuming Arthur would realize the stupidity of his plan on his own. When Rico finally started answering the phones, it was almost believable for a few days. The phone would ring, and the bird would let out a crisp, clear greeting in a voice that was eerily similar to Arthur’s own clipped tone. Customers were obviously confused, often asking if they were speaking to a recording, but it did give us that extra few seconds to jump on the line before the caller hung up. It felt like we were working in some weird, futuristic office where technology had gone slightly sideways. We actually started to get used to the strange squawking. But birds are moody, and Rico soon got tired of the routine. The trouble really started on an afternoon. The office was quiet, and I was busy filing some paperwork near the lobby when I heard Rico let out a piercing scream that made me jump. I looked over and saw our biggest client, Mr. Henderson, walking through the front door for his scheduled meeting. Before I could even say hello, Rico puffed out his chest, flapped his wings, and yelled, You’re fired! at the top of his lungs. I froze in my tracks. I looked over at Mr. Henderson, who was standing there looking completely shocked. He looked at me, then at the bird, and then back at the desk. Rico wasn't finished, though. He hopped along his perch, narrowed his eyes, and yelled again, Get out! Don't come back! The office went deadly silent. I could hear the hum of the air conditioner and nothing else. Mr. Henderson was visibly shaking with anger. He turned to me and demanded to know why we were treating a high-paying client with such blatant disrespect. Before I could explain that it was just a bird and not a personal insult, he told me that our company was unprofessional and that he was terminating our contract immediately. There was total panic as I tried to explain the situation, but the damage was already done. Someone dropped a mug of coffee in the breakroom, and the sound of shattering ceramic echoed through the lobby as Mr. Henderson stormed out. Arthur came rushing out of his office, his face turning bright red when he saw the empty space where our best client used to be. He tried to explain to HR that the bird was just practicing its vocabulary, but it clearly didn't work. HR had been looking for a reason to address Arthur’s eccentric behavior for a long time, and this was the golden opportunity they needed. They arrived within the hour, looking very stern. They walked past the rows of desks, went directly to the lobby, and took the birdcage away. By the end of the day, Rico was gone. The office felt strangely empty after that. The silence in the lobby was almost heavier than it had been before the bird arrived. We didn't actually get any better at our work after he left, but we did end up with a story that brings us together whenever the pressure gets too high. Whenever we feel like we are about to snap, someone mentions the parrot, and we all start laughing until our sides hurt. Sometimes, when the office is quiet and the sun is setting, I swear I can still hear the distant echo of that bird squawking, You're fired.