Small(ish)

The cowardly marketing team sent an intern to the meeting; such was their level of discomfort confronting their boss. But few could blame them, given his professional stature. And just his general stature as well.

“Come in, come in,” he called in a booming voice.

The intern meekly entered the office. He looked only at the paper the marketing department had given to him. “Don’t try to meet his gaze,” his supervisor had told him. “Not only are his eyes mesmerizing, but just the height of them is enough to give you vertigo.”

“Mr. Bunyan, sir,” the intern began.

“Please, call me Paul Jr.,” said the CEO, Paul Bunyan Jr. “Mr. Bunyan was my father.”

“Paul Jr.,” the intern began again, “I bring this message from the marketing department, who hopes you will not find it too out of line. It is regarding the newest product you’d like to introduce: the fifty-foot expandable ‘Pocket Hose.’ Now, we want to be clear up front, this is not an issue with the product itself. We see the utility. A hose that expands when water runs through it, and contracts when it is not in use, making for easy storage? It’s wonderful. But–”

“Yes, I agree,” said Paul Bunyan Jr., cutting the intern off and growing wistful. “It is a wonderful product, and one of great personal importance to me. You see, my father raised me to live a life much like his own. From a young age, I was taught to fell trees and hollow them into recorders, which I could use to play the ancient songs that summon creatures of all kinds, so that I might draft them into servitude.”

“That’s very interesting, sir,” the intern said. “Once again, we have no problem with the product. It’s only–”

“But my father didn’t realize the world had changed,” Paul Bunyan Jr. went on. “He came up in a time when nature required taming. The way he lived–the way he taught me to live–it’s impossible now. Nature, for the most part, has been tamed. Some might say that it has been domesticated into oblivion. And I understand that I’m part of this problem. Do you know I get to work every morning? Not with one gas-guzzling truck, but two. I have a pair of F-350s. I strap one foot in the bed of one and the other in the bed of the next and use these like roller skates. These are piloted by assistants, Nigel and Naomi, a married couple who enjoy rock climbing. On Sundays, they put on harnesses and helmets and climb to comb my hair and trim my beard. But I’m getting off topic. The point is, my way of life is as different from my father’s as it could be. But with this hose, I hope to draw a connection. For what is gardening if not introducing a bit more nature into the world so that we may subsequently tame it?”

“Yeah, so,” the intern said, “that’s beautiful and all, sir. But the main issue the marketing department has is the name. ‘Pocket Hose.’”

“What’s wrong with that?” Paul Bunyan Jr. asked.

“Well, they don’t really fit in most human-sized pockets.”

“Oh,” Paul Bunyan Jr. said. “Whoops. Didn’t think of that. But unfortunately, the packaging is already made. So you’ll just have to figure it out.”

“Got it, sir,” said the intern. “Thank you for taking the time.” He retreated quickly. Outside, the hall felt blazingly warm. The ceilings in that office are so high, he thought, all the heat must’ve risen, leaving it cold close to the ground.