Janice: An Anecdote
By Wanderer
What kind of Chief Executive Officer is Janice?


This is adult material. Please do not read if you are under age 21 or laws in
your country forbid you to do so. Any similarity to actual persons, living or
dead, is unintentional and purely coincidental.

(A note to readers: My original thought was to conclude this series by
describing how brother Jim and sister Janice determined the succession to the
head of their father's Fortune 500 company. So far I've been telling you about
the mean, bitchy, muscular side of my oversexed wife, but to be fair to her I
think I should describe the softer side of her personality. I thought this
anecdote about Janice might be of interest to readers since it gives some sort
of insight into the type of chief executive officer she chose to be).

Earlier parts of this story may be found on the Wanderer bookshelf. They
should be read in the following order:

Who's In the Closet Now? (Parts 1, 2, and 3).

We're Back In the Closet Again (Parts 1 and 2).

The Engagement Party (Parts 1 to 5).

The Engagement Party-Epilogue (Parts 1 and 2).

(You may have to look around a little on the bookshelf

for these).

5.) The Engagement Party-Epilogue Two (Part 1).

(There is no Part 2 so don't look for it).

My Big Deal Social Wedding.

Marriage Can Be Fun? (Parts 1 to 4).

The Board of Directors Meets My Wife.

Copyright 2003 by Wanderer.

I have to say this for my wife. Even if she treated me like shit sometimes (a
lot), she played fair with our company employees. One day her personal
assistant, Ms. Peters, knocks on Janice's office door and says, "Janice, I
think you'll want to talk to this guy."

Janice always listened to Ms. Peters' advice. She knew that Ms. Peters had an
ear tuned in to what was going on in the company outside the executive floor.
"Show him in," she says.

So here comes this kind of frumpy looking guy, wearing a clean but pretty well
frayed shirt, denim pants that have probably been in the washing machine a
thousand times, and a baseball cap on his head. He walks in, head bowed,
afraid to look at the president and CEO of the company, then grabs his hat off
his head as he realizes he's in the presence of a lady.

"Well, what do you want?" my wife questioned him, sharply.

He gulped, trying to find his voice. "Ma'am," he began, "I'm Roger Madison. I
used to work on the production line at your plant. I---I---was just wondering
if you might---well---just reinstate my health insurance for a little while
until I can find another job. My little three year old---well, she needs that
heart operation---you know---because of the hole in her heart wall, it's not
pumping blood right, you know."

"No, I don't know," Jan says, her voice softening. "Why the hell did you quit
when you know your little girl requires a heart operation?"

"Oh, I didn't quit, you know," he says. "It's just that the Human Resources
Department is downsizing the production line so the company can make more
money, and I got caught up in the cut."

"What!" Janice exploded. "Who the hell is downsizing the production line? Why
the hell doesn't someone tell me these things? How long have you been with the
company?"

"Twenty-seven years, ma'am," he says, proudly. "I began with your father when
he started the company."

"And now you got fired? I don't believe it! What were you doing, sleeping on
the job?"

"Oh, no ma'am," he says. "I've only missed two days work in twenty-seven
years, I had the flu, you know. I'm sorry about that," he mumbled,
apologetically.

Hearing this, my wife was getting red in the face. "You missed two days work?
That's it?" the CEO questioned. Of course Mr. Madison thought he had just
admitted to some heinous crime and now he knew he had a snowball's chance in
hell of getting an extension on his health insurance. Tears came to his eyes,
not for himself but because it was a death sentence for his little three year
old baby girl.

"You come with me!" Janice ordered. She, her personal assistant, and Mr.
Madison took the elevator two floors down to the Human Resources Department,
Janice's high heel shoes making a staccato echo as she marched along the
marble floor.

When Janice was determined she didn't pussy foot. She would stride
purposefully with long strides toward her destination. At times, if I was
accompanying her, I would practically have to run to keep up with her, even
though I am taller than she is. And now, as she strode the floor towards the
Human Resources Department offices, she was one very determined CEO. Dan, the
production line worker, and her personal assistant, Ms. Peters, hurried along
behind her. The loud staccato sound of her high heels striking the marble
floor drew the attention of everyone sitting at desks outside the office of
the HRD director. The person whose job it was to restrict access to the office
of the HRD head man rose from his chair to stand guard in front of the office
door. What he saw was a rather angry looking woman bearing down on him. Being
a paper pusher, he had no knowledge of who this woman was, he had never been
on the top executive floor in his five years at the company, and with the
recent retirement of the company founder all he knew was that the ex-CEO's
daughter now headed the company. The rumor was she was rather frumpy, and this
woman was gorgeous.

"Wait until I get my hands on that," he thought. "Just let her try to get by
me. Maybe I can get my hands on a booby."

Janice's long strides hiked her short skirt half-way up her thighs. She always
wore short skirts because she knew she had very appealing legs. I always told
her that when I wanted to get on her good side. Sometimes the compliment kept
me from getting beat up. "Do you really think so?" she would ask. "Of course,
honey," I would say. They were thick with her thirty- two inch quads and
twenty inch calves, but, being 5' 10" tall, she had long legs, and the whole
package came together very nicely. Ben Hamilton, the unofficial HRD guard, was
fascinated.

"What the hell is that?" he thought. "Does she have leg muscles? Nah, women
don't have quads. Must be jiggly fat. I'll bet there's a lot of cellulite
there. Still, those calves look pretty wide. I wonder how she gets one leg
past the other?" he mused.

It was true. Janice's twenty inch calves were so wide she did have a problem
getting one leg past the other. She had developed a sexy little wiggle to her
hips, something like those high fashion models as they parade down a fashion
show runway. And Mr. Hamilton was well aware of that hip wiggle approaching
him, so much so that he couldn't conceal his oncoming erection.

Janice was so angry as she marched toward the HRD office that her chest was
visibly heaving. She always unbuttoned the top couple buttons of her blouse
anyway, just enough so that leering males could catch a glimpse of her
prodigious breasts being concealed by her lacy bra. Not that she needed a bra
to hold her breasts in place, her pectoral muscles could do that. It was just
more intriguing for her male executives if she could frustrate them by not
showing them everything. She knew that company executives stealing glances at
her cleavage would give her extra power over them, and she wasn't above using
these extra little tricks to get what she wanted out of them. But now, in her
anger, her heaving chest had popped a couple more buttons and Mr. Hamilton was
getting an eyeful.

"Wow," he was thinking, "it's going to take a couple hands to handle each of
those babies. I'm going to get her a job here even if I have to pay her out of
my own pocket. And I'd better take my hand out of my pocket before I come all
over my pants."

So Big Ben, as he likes to refer to himself, watches this tall female marching
down the aisle like she owns the company, which she does, but he doesn't know
that. "Just a minute---" he begins, getting in Janice's way. Maybe she wants a
job. "You gotta fill out an employment application, like any other skirt," he
says. She's pretty cute, maybe he can get her alone in a supply closet and
screw her if she wants a job real bad. Janice raises her right hand, backhands
him across his cheek with incredible force, her twenty-two inch biceps
propelling her arm. He goes down, dead to the world, little birdies chirping
in his head. So much for Big Ben.

The door to the Human Resource Director's office is closed, naturally. He
doesn't want to be bothered with little petty crap like personnel problems
that might come up. Janice doesn't bother to use the door knob to open the
door. She raises her right foot and kicks the door open. The director, Mr.
Johnson, looks up startled. Of course he immediately recognized the president
and CEO of the company.

"Oh, hi, Jan, nice to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
he says, brightly.

"You know this guy?" Jan asks, pointing to the production line worker, Roger
Madison, standing behind her, humbly, head bowed.

"No, who the hell is he?" asks the director.

"He's Roger Madison, he's been on the production line twenty-seven years, he
started with my dad when he founded the company. Why the hell did you fire
him?"

"Same reason I'm firing most of the old-timers in the company," he replies,
proudly. "These are the workers costing the company the most money. They get
the highest salaries because of their seniority, they raise our health
insurance premiums because they're older and require more health care, they
have the most sniveling kids who run to the hospital emergency rooms every
time they get a runny nose. I'm getting rid of all of them. I'm not giving
them any severance pay and I've cut off their health insurance. If any of them
try to sue most of them will be dead by the time their cases make their way
through the courts. We've got a great bunch of company lawyers. I've added
twelve cents per share to the bottom line," he whispered, conspiratorially.

"But what about Roger's three year old child here?" Janice asked. "She needs a
heart operation. Dan doesn't have the $75,000 that kind of operation is going
to cost."

"Well," the Human Resources director said, "he's probably got three or four
other kids at home. One less isn't going to make a hell of a lot of
difference. It's just the luck of the draw," he smirked.

The director had stayed seated while Janice stood in front of him. Now Jan
moved around to his side of the desk, grabbed his tie in her hand, pulled him
up out of his chair, and stood nose to nose with him.

"You asshole," she declared. "These are the people who made this company
successful, who dedicated all their working lives to help this company and
make my family rich beyond our wildest dreams, and you're going to get rid of
them for twelve cents a share? You're a total idiot!" she raged at him.

The Human Resources director was shocked. "You can't talk to me like that---
!" he began. "Your brother should be the president and CEO. We need a hard-
headed man heading up this company, not a bleeding heart female---!"

"Oh, shut up!" Jan interrupted him. She grabbed one of his hands, knelt down,
and pulled the astonished director over her shoulder, carrying him out of his
office, stepping over the still prostrate body of the assistant who had tried
to stop her.

Pausing in front of the desk just outside the HRD director's office she asked
the astonished woman sitting there, "Who are you?"

"I---I---I'm the secretary of the man on your shoulder," she stammers.

"Good," says Janice. ""You're now head of the Human Resources Department. Just
hire everybody back that this asshole fired. Give them back pay, and reinstate
their health insurance. You understand me?"

"Oh, yes ma'am." The secretary is all smiles. Her annual salary had just gone
from $50,000 a year to $500,000 a year. Who wouldn't smile? "What are you
going to do with that jerk on your shoulder?" she asks.

"I'm going to give him a proper sendoff," says Jan. She, with the ex-HRD
director still laying helpless across her broad shoulder, staring down at her
muscular twenty inch calves, her secretary and the production line worker
tagging along behind, marches down the aisle of the HRD, the office workers
staring in astonishment at the sight of this procession, their boss lying
across the broad shoulder of a woman carrying him seemingly effortlessly.

Jan and her entourage take the express elevator down to the ground floor. The
security guards, who know Jan well, ask "You need any help, Ms. Witherington?"

"With this dork? Hell, no!" Jan gets to the automatic doors, pulls the ex- HRD
director off her shoulder, and picks him up with one hand around his neck so
that his feet are dangling a foot off the floor. The effort causes her massive
twenty-two inch biceps to bulge the sleeves of her designer blouse to the
ripping point. Now she says to Dan Madison, "Oh, by the way, Dan, you're now a
production line supervisor. As your first supervisory act, please give this
prick a good swift kick in the ass!"

"With pleasure, ma'am," says a gleeful Dan, and he plants his heavy work boot
squarely on the ex-director's butt, propelling him six feet into the building
courtyard.

"Oh, by the way," Jan says to the ex-director who's scrambling to get back to
his feet and rubbing his aching behind, "guess what? No reason to treat you
any different than you've treated my production line workers. I'm hereby
canceling your health insurance, your severance pay, your company stock
options, and your pension plan, too. That should add a few cents to our bottom
line profit, don't you think?"

Sometimes I get very proud of my wife.

Next (I think): My friend, James Pettigrrew Witherington III, and his sister,
Janice, who is my wife, finally settle the matter of who is to really be the
president and CEO of the Witherington Fortune 500 company.