This F@#%ing Circus is Still on Fire!
Part Three: Where There’s Smoke …
Zara blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three.
Times.
Gerald also blinked.
But the Clown? She merely coughed and fanned her face to ward off the smoke.
Russell began taking notes, though there wasn’t much to note, Zara assumed, given the silence. The Ringmaster smiled, widely and … Encouragingly? The smile seemed to suggest they believed they had said something both wise and helpful, in their ongoing attempts to ever so masterfully manage all this complexity.
“The smoke,” Zara said, with what she surmised would be a palatable enough, non-intimidating blend of congeniality and competence, “is from the fire.”
The acrobats shifted, then, noticeably uncomfortable, all sets of eyes carefully trained on still frayed high-wire act ropes at their feet. The Ringmaster paused, tapped their nose with their finger several times, and eventually nodded.
That, Zara …
“That is an excellent observation.”
Russell also nodded in earnest and sycophantic agreement while writing Zara = Excellent Observation on his yellow clipboard notepad. “Thank you,” Zara replied. “Given that, are we going to discuss the fire?”
The Ringmaster smiled again.
But it was a different smile this time.
No matter, as Zara had become exceedingly well-versed at both recognizing and interpreting The Ringmaster’s full range of smiles. This next grin was The One generally reserved for particularly annoying children, smoke-addled circus goers, and circus staff who had accidentally wandered into yet another meeting with any actual expectations of clarity, transparency or solutions.
Zara looked at Gerald.
Gerald looked at Zara.
And the Clown?
She looked at nobody.
“Zara, I’m not sure we’re truly hearing one another, yet. I think we’ve made it clear. We’re here to discuss smoke mitigation.”
“I do hear you, Ringmaster, but as I think you know, where there’s smoke …”
Outside, something exploded.
Nothing too spectacular, of course.
Just enough to rattle the lanterns.
Nobody even reacted.
It happened all the time.
The Ringmaster continued.
“Let’s put a pin in that for now, Zara. I think it important that we work toward pivoting to our Smoke Mitigation Visioning Exercise. I’ve spent so much good and contemplative time, planning that! Before we do, though, I believe Fire Marshal Zara may have, at one time or another, requested additional buckets. That’s correct, isn’t it?”
As if on (carefully and contemplative?) cue, Russell immediately produced a second binder. This one was considerably thicker and heavily layered with charcoal colored soot.
“How many buckets did you request, Zara?” asked The Ringmaster.
“Three.”
The Ringmaster nodded, gravely. Russell flipped rapidly through several hundred pages. “According to these records,” he said, “Fire Marshal Zara’s in triplicate bucket request process began approximately …
Flip.
Flip.
Flip.
… fourteen months ago.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Gerald could no longer maintain his silence.
“That’s what the Bucket Readiness Assessment Team concluded as well,” Russell continued. “After the initial Bucket Needs Evaluation, the request was forwarded to the Strategic Bucket Steering Committee.”
“The … what?” Zara could also no longer contain her exasperation.
“The Strategic Bucket Steering Committee. We call it the SBSC. Maybe that rings a bell?”
Zara rolled her eyes and removed her ash-covered glasses, doing her best to clean them, yet again. “Who serves on that?”
Russell consulted his notes. “Nobody knows. The committee has not successfully assembled since its formation.”
Zara was too far past the point of congenial for any hope of return, now.
“Then — how does it make decisions?”
Russell looked genuinely perplexed. “Through process, of course.”
The Clown made a strangled, chocking sort of sound — Probably the smoke.
Zara closed her eyes. Then, Slowly. Carefully …
“Did I ever get the buckets, Russell?”
Russell checked page 787b, subset paragraph 2.6f of the binder and noticeably brightened.
“Yes! Yes you did!”
Zara opened her left eye, affixing her gaze on Russell’s sooted binder.
“I did?”
You sure did, Fire Marshal. You received three buckets.”
“And were they functional buckets, Russell?”
Russell hesitated.
Gerald muttered a prayer.
“Well,” Russell said, “that depends entirely, of course, precisely how one defines functional.”
(Part four, headed your way next …)