Town Hires Consultant to Confirm Everyone Is Already Busy

🎤 Audio Overview

🎤 Song For This Story

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Act I – The Announcement at Town Hall

The folding chairs in Town Hall had been arranged in the shape of intention.

Nobody knew exactly what the intention was, but it was symmetrical, and that seemed to satisfy most of the crowd. A paper sign taped to the front podium read:

“CONSULTANT PRESENTATION – PLEASE SIT WITH PURPOSE.”

Clovis Strickland stood near the front, holding a clipboard he had borrowed from himself. He was studying the empty pie chart he had drawn earlier.

“It’s going to be a good one,” he said to anyone within earshot. “I can feel it. External validation. That’s where the truth lives.”

Boot Barnes leaned against the back wall, arms crossed.

“The truth’s usually free,” Boot muttered. “Soon as you gotta pay for it, it starts soundin’ like a receipt.”

Mabel Dean Ashcroft sat upright in the front row, fanning herself with the printed agenda.

“I just hope whoever this is has the decency to tell us something we don’t already know,” she said. “Otherwise, we’ve outsourced the obvious, and I don’t care for that as a business model.”

Sheriff Peeler stood near the side door, nodding as if security itself required nodding.

“We got a full house,” he said. “Which means whatever’s said tonight will be repeated tomorrow, slightly different, but with confidence.”

Daisy the hound trotted in, circled twice, and sat directly in the aisle, facing the podium.

“Even the dog’s ready,” said Trixie Jo Bartlett. “That’s more commitment than most committees I’ve seen.”

At precisely seven minutes after the scheduled start time, Shelley Fawn Wexler approached the podium.

“We are gathered,” she said, “to hear from a certified consultant who has been retained to assess our collective workload capacity as a community.”

Boot raised an eyebrow.

“How much we payin’ to find out we’re tired?” he asked.

Shelley ignored him.

“Our consultant will be interviewing residents, observing workflows, and ultimately delivering a formal report on whether additional initiatives can be undertaken.”

Clovis leaned forward.

“Will there be graphs?” he asked.

“There will be findings,” Shelley said.

Clovis nodded, satisfied.

“That usually means graphs.”

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Act II – The Consultant Arrives

The consultant arrived the next morning in a vehicle that suggested both professionalism and detachment.

His name was Harold Finchley, though he introduced himself as “Harold, from an external perspective.”

He wore a tie that implied neutrality.

“Where do I begin?” he asked.

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter pointed toward Main Street.

“Just start askin’ folks what they’re doin’,” he said. “Then ask ‘em if they can do more. Then write down whatever face they make.”

Harold nodded.

“That’s consistent with my methodology.”

Daisy stood up and began following him.

“She does that,” said Kenny Joe. “Tracks authority.”

Harold approached Sonny Morales first, who was sweeping the front of his shop.

“Sir,” Harold said, “can you describe your current workload?”

Sonny paused.

“Well, I’m open from dawn till folks stop needing things. Which is usually after they realize they need one more thing.”

“And could you take on additional responsibilities?”

Sonny looked at the broom, then at Harold.

“Depends,” he said. “Would they sweep themselves?”

Harold wrote something down.

“Noted,” he said.

Daisy sniffed the clipboard approvingly.

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Act III – Interviews at the Diner

By noon, Harold had reached the diner, where most of the town’s productivity had gathered for a break from itself.

Maggie Sue Dillard poured coffee with the precision of someone who knew it was the only stable thing in the room.

“What’ll it be?” she asked.

“Insight,” Harold said.

“You’ll have to order that separate,” she replied.

At the counter sat RT Mullins, Trixie Jo Bartlett, and Tiffany Annette Roark, all mid-discussion.

“I just think,” Tiffany said, “if we’re already doing everything, what exactly is left?”

“Plenty,” RT said. “Just none of it we want.”

Harold took a seat.

“I’m conducting interviews,” he said. “Can you describe your daily responsibilities?”

Trixie Jo laughed.

“Which version? The one we planned or the one that happened?”

“Both,” Harold said.

She leaned forward.

“Planned: manageable. Happened: ongoing.”

Harold nodded.

“And your capacity for additional tasks?”

All three looked at him in silence.

Maggie Sue set down three fresh coffees.

“That right there,” she said, “is your answer.”

Harold wrote again.

Daisy sat beneath the counter, wagging her tail at every passing shoe.

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Act IV – The Church Perspective

That afternoon, Harold visited the church.

Pastor Arnold Peeler greeted him with a handshake that conveyed both welcome and mild concern.

“I understand you’re evaluating our capacity,” he said.

“I am,” Harold replied.

Sister Lila Mae “Hallelujah” Pruitt stood nearby, already nodding.

“Well, I can tell you right now,” she said, “we’re full. Spiritually, emotionally, and in the fellowship hall.”

Harold smiled.

“And could you expand your activities?”

Pastor Peeler considered.

“We could,” he said slowly, “but then we’d have to explain why.”

Sister Lila Mae raised a finger.

“And explanation is where things get complicated.”

Harold wrote.

“Noted: explanation creates friction.”

Daisy wandered up the aisle, sat briefly at the altar, and then returned.

“She’s already covered more ground than most visiting ministers,” Pastor Peeler observed.

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Act V – Clovis and the Charts

Back at Town Hall, Clovis had set up a display board.

“I’ve been tracking your progress,” he told Harold.

“With what data?” Harold asked.

“Assumptions,” Clovis said. “Very reliable.”

He pointed to a chart labeled “BUSYNESS DISTRIBUTION.”

“It shows that everyone is approximately 100% occupied, with a margin of error of zero.”

Harold studied it.

“That’s remarkably consistent.”

Clovis beamed.

“I rounded.”

Mabel walked in, took one look, and sighed.

“So we’ve hired a man to confirm your guesses?”

“They’re structured guesses,” Clovis said.

Harold nodded.

“Structure adds credibility.”

Boot entered, carrying a receipt.

“Who paid for this again?” he asked.

Shelley Fawn Wexler stepped in behind him.

“It was approved through a discretionary allocation,” she said.

Boot looked at the paper.

“I don’t see discretion. I see numbers.”

“Same thing,” Shelley said.

Daisy barked once, as if to punctuate the transaction.

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Act VI – The Sheriff’s Office

At the sheriff’s office, Harold conducted what he called “operational interviews.”

Sheriff Peeler leaned back in his chair.

“We respond to what happens,” he said. “Which is most of it.”

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter nodded.

“And some of what doesn’t happen yet,” he added.

Harold scribbled.

“And your capacity for proactive initiatives?”

Sheriff Peeler thought for a moment.

“We’ve got the capacity to think about them,” he said.

Kenny Joe leaned forward.

“Just not the follow-through,” he clarified.

Daisy wandered in, sniffed around, and located a misplaced report under a chair.

“Well, I’ll be,” Kenny Joe said. “That’s been missing since Tuesday.”

Harold paused.

“Is that typical?” he asked.

“Only when we’re busy,” Sheriff Peeler replied.

Daisy wagged her tail.

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Act VII – The Consultant Synthesizes

That evening, Harold sat at a small desk in Town Hall, compiling his findings.

Clovis hovered nearby.

“Can I see the draft?” he asked.

“It’s still forming,” Harold said.

“I love formation,” Clovis replied.

Mabel entered, arms crossed.

“Let me guess,” she said. “We’re all busy.”

Harold looked up.

“That is the emerging conclusion.”

She nodded.

“And we paid for that?”

“It’s validated now,” Harold said.

Pastor Peeler stepped in.

“I appreciate the thoroughness,” he said. “It’s comforting to have confirmation.”

Boot leaned against the doorframe.

“I would’ve confirmed it for half the price,” he said.

Shelley adjusted her notes.

“But you wouldn’t have formatted it,” she said.

Daisy lay down beside the desk, having completed her own rounds.

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Act VIII – The Presentation

The next night, Town Hall filled again.

Harold stood at the podium, his report neatly bound.

“After extensive interviews and observations,” he began, “I can confirm that every individual in this town is operating at or near full capacity.”

Clovis nodded vigorously.

“Consistent with my chart,” he whispered.

Harold continued.

“Any additional initiatives would require either the removal of existing responsibilities or the creation of new time.”

A murmur spread through the room.

Mabel raised her hand.

“Did you consider the possibility that some things don’t need doing?”

Harold paused.

“That was outside the scope.”

Pastor Peeler smiled.

“I find this reassuring,” he said. “We are, collectively, doing our best.”

Boot raised his hand.

“Who’s responsible for that conclusion?” he asked.

Harold blinked.

“It is a shared outcome,” he said.

Daisy barked once.

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Act IX – The Aftermath

In the days that followed, the report circulated widely.

Copies appeared at the diner, the church, and even the sheriff’s office.

Maggie Sue read it between orders.

“Well,” she said, “it says we’re busy.”

RT nodded.

“I feel validated,” he said.

Trixie Jo flipped through the pages.

“I don’t feel any less busy,” she said.

Tiffany Annette Roark sighed.

“At least now we know why.”

Clovis updated his chart to include a new section labeled “CONFIRMED BUSY.”

Mabel folded her copy neatly.

“I suppose,” she said, “this is what happens when you outsource agreement.”

Pastor Peeler placed a copy in the church office.

“It’s good to have documentation,” he said.

Sheriff Peeler filed his under “General Conditions.”

Daisy, meanwhile, continued her rounds, visiting each location, checking for overlooked details, and occasionally retrieving something someone had misplaced.

She did not produce a report.

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Epilogue – The Quiet Realization

One evening, Boot sat on his porch, watching the sun settle into its usual conclusion.

Clovis joined him, holding the report.

“It’s official,” Clovis said. “We’re all busy.”

Boot nodded.

“Were we not before?” he asked.

Clovis considered.

“We were,” he said. “But now it’s been confirmed.”

Boot leaned back.

“Feels like we hired someone to tell us we don’t have time to fix things.”

Clovis smiled.

“That’s efficiency.”

Daisy wandered up, dropped a small object at Boot’s feet—a missing key from the sheriff’s office.

Boot picked it up.

“Well,” he said, “she’s been more productive than the whole report.”

Clovis looked at Daisy.

“She doesn’t document her work,” he said.

Boot shrugged.

“She just does it.”

Daisy wagged her tail.

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Disclaimer

The events, findings, and conclusions presented in this report are entirely fictional and should not be interpreted as an actual assessment of any real town, its residents, or their workloads. Any resemblance to real-life situations, communities, or individuals is purely coincidental and likely reflective of broader patterns in human behavior.

No consultants were harmed, validated, or overbooked in the creation of this narrative.

Daisy the hound remains the most effective operational unit in Sequatchie Crossing.

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