I hate the dutch

Chapter 3, Some Kinda Chinese, Chapter 4, Cheese Ball

Wolfie, whose mother was a believer in the Norse Gods and had named him Beowulf, was anticipating the arrival of Corporate. They’d come to inspect the new Security Station among other changes. Wolfie was observing them via the new security system from his office, fantastic high definition, you could see better this way than with your own eyes. “With their panoptagonal cameras that see and record everything” griped Wolfie to himself.
Dutch Corporate manifested in human form as Case and Kim. The Dutchman unfolded himself from the back seat of the Maybach and towered above the huge limousine. Why can’t he have a black Range Rover like a normal Bad Guy mused Wolfie. The Corporate wife, scooted herself over the leather surface and got out the door Case was holding open. She quickly glances around as she stretches down her Corporate skirt over her ample bottom. She says a couple of words to Case, “does my bum look big in this” imagines Wolfie. Kim is tiny next to her husband, not typical Dutch but the bitch is some kind of Chinese/Dutch cross. Good job I’m only thinking this and not saying it out loud he muses.
They’d be shown into the reception room before Beowulf would put on his best Corporate smile and go and meet them as if just now being told of their arrival.
Beowulf checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror and straightened his silk tie, the one his aunt Betsy had bought him when he attained management position at her founding bakery. It was deep blue with little yellow dots which were actually tiny angel cakes if you looked really closely. He hoped Corporate would not think it too twee. Under his breath he repeats to himself, “Good morning Mr and Mrs Stapleton, I’m Beowulf Cooper but you may call me Wolfie”.
Beowulf entered the reception room hand outstretched as Case stands to greet him. Wolfie looks up and up like he’s looking up at the wind turbine, “Crikey, I bet you get good mobile reception up there”.

Cheese Ball
After the meeting Wolfie pondered if the Dutch or Corporate had a point. The Bakery which had become a decent sized chain was responsible for making people fat. As the business had expanded so had the waistlines of the UK. OK so it’s not all down to us but in terms of obesity our staff are probably fatter than average. The biggest image problem was Betsy, his Aunt, the founder and mascot of the bakery. Her fat face was on all the products. Corporate wanted to switch her out for someone slimmer. Someone with a smaller CO2 arse print thought Wolfie. They wanted his mother who although older was slimmer, attractive and still one of the directors.
Betsy had stayed fit despite her weight due to being active on the bakery floor. Most of the recipes were hers or handed down to her. She would regularly taste test the product. To Betsy you have to eat the whole cake, not just taste it. You had to still want more when you’d eaten it.
Betsy was a young 60 when a cake turned on her. Well icing actually. The night shift had left the bakery in a real mess, a cake fight or some game involving cake. There was a chair covered in cake crumbs and cake icing all over the place. Betsy came storming in wanting to know why there was such a mess and she slipped on icing and broke her hip. The mess was quietly cleared up and no one said any more. The accident book just says slipped over.
She spent 2 months in hospital and 6 more months resting and taste testing the product from home. She had a bungalow converted to accommodate a large disability scooter just half a mile from the bakery. Betsy would scoot into the reception room where all the bakers had laid out their cakes on the large table used for board meetings. Where she would proceed to taste test every one until they were all gone.
The efficiency of product taste testing increased dramatically with all the cakes in one place and the only thing the tester had to do was eat them. Betsy would scan their bar codes and enter ratings into the hand held device. At least she felt this was real work.