Domo was nervous as the brass from the front office filed into the mixing shed kitchen.
To the field crews even the lowest secretary was a near-mythical creature. They could screw-up or fix you pay stub or get you tossed out of the housing with an errant stroke of the keyboard.
Domo had never even heard of “Mick” but he noticed how deferential the others were toward him.
Domo relaxed a little bit when Mick pulled a half gallon box of vanilla ice cream out of an insulated bag.
Mr Mason replicated Domo’s tasting session with the big-wigs. Even Mick Scerba was impressed with the third blend. Mick became down-right excited when he heard that it only added four cents a liter.
Mick directed Mr Mason to mix up five-thousand liters of #3. Domo started to speak up, to say that he wanted to fiddle with the recipe a little bit more.
Mick waved him silent. “You will have a lot of time to fiddle with recipes, young man. The thing to do is to get this out to some customers and see if they like it.”
“What do you want us to use for labels?” one of the secretaries asked.
Mick thought for a second. “Domo, put on a chef’s hat and stand next to that industrial mixer.”
Then, turning to the person who asked the question, Mick said “Take a few pictures of Domo. We will call it ‘Domo’s Delight’ and use his picture on the label.”
“Are you OK with that?” Mick asked Domo.
Domo beamed his joy as the secretary took several snapshots with her phone.
Mr Mason started scooping out the ice cream when Domo tugged on Mick’s sleeve. “Ummm, Mr Scerba. Would it be OK if I sent a case of this to one of my friends?” Domo asked.
“Sure.” Mick said, distracted.
“Shelly,” Mick said, “once we get rolling help this young man ship a case of this to his friend. Make sure he gets it before this hits the shelves.”