Chip Masters was fed up, and it was apparent in his posture. Usually, he stands at 6’4”, but today, he was compressed, hunched over at 6’1”. How many more phones could he possibly lose this year? He lost count after nine, and it was only March.
There needs to be a standard for what is considered too small. The world is composed of all people of all sizes. His proposal for phones to be designed for the larger person was immediately rejected, and he reacted harshly by calling the board a bunch of out of touch sizeists. In their defense, most people want a micro future, the smaller the better. Chip’s idea was too far out of the box for corporate thinking. Strangely, one idea got the green light that day; phones designed to match the skin tone of the user.
As Chip walked through the hallway, his co-workers hugged the walls in fear of getting in his way. He looked like a bull on its hind legs, focused on the red, plowing his way to his office.
If he wasn’t so pissed off, he could have been counting his blessings, for he had a gorgeous view of the skyline, he earned close to seven figures last year, and he was only 22 years old, unfortunately with anger management deficiencies. This would one day prove to be his downfall, accompanied by the alcoholism.
In September, Chip would be both devastated and flabbergasted by the cruel fates of homelessness and severe dandruff.