The Elephant in The Building

• An absurd satire of corporate life, spiked with elephant coffee and concrete.

I.

Looking out the window from the seventieth floor of the Quantum X Corporation building onto the streets below, the owner of that lofty pair of eyes gains an instant sense of detachment from the constant commotion taking place below. Through the soundproof windows, even a collision between a bus and a tanker followed by its fiery explosion would sound like nothing more than a muted thud, insufficient to disturb even the neurotic parrot that, over the last half year, had plucked every feather off its own body in the golden cage within the office of the company’s esteemed CEO, the honorable Thaddeus Raventhorn, who was currently vacationing in sunny Caribbean climes.

The entire company operates on a strict pyramid hierarchy, and so it is on the seventieth floor—also the highest—where the biggest beasts of the corporate jungle parade through the corridors. Men in bespoke suits, women in outfits of exotic fabrics, all wearing polished shoes, buttons with stories behind them, custom-made glasses, and business card holders fashioned from precious metals casually tucked into pockets, ready to astonish others at a moment’s notice. Here, luxury trumps the authenticity of the human soul.

Directly opposite the CEO’s office is a small room containing a Zephyr espresso machine by Kees van der Westen. This is a fully operational original from 1987, which receives exemplary regular maintenance. Above it, a small backlit display case holds a collection of cups by Ginori 1735, originally established under the name Richard Ginori. Entry to the room is limited to two people at a time, and each person must wash their cup in the adjacent sink, dry it with an Egyptian cotton towel, and return it to the display case. These rules are diligently followed, and the managers naturally form humble pairs throughout the day to share a cup of coffee of the highest quality. Two types of coffee are served alternately—Panamanian Hacienda La Esmeralda and Thai Black Ivory Coffee, the beans of which are passed through the digestive tracts of elephants. The only person bothered by this fact is Vivienne Gale, the quality control manager, who, whenever this type of coffee is being served, immediately switches to drinking Da Hong Pao black tea—not an inferior blend, of course, but a harvest from secondary bushes near the Wuyi Mountains. She marks her calendar with what she calls Hacienda Days and Da Hong Pao Days.

II.

Henrik Dahlgren, the financial director, and a man currently heavily reliant on Brioni suits, is the first to notice the early traces of that peculiar green smoke. He likely holds little faith in the building’s security staff because his first thought upon seeing the venomous green cloud is that terrorists are attacking the building. Panicking, the first thing he does is remove his Vacheron Constantin watch from his wrist and hide it in his underwear, specifically in the area between his thigh and his left testicle. It must be noted that this is highly comfortable underwear by Tom Ford, provided it does not contain foreign objects of cold steel.

Right on his heels, Amelia Ashford, the HR manager, notices the emerald smoke, now thickened and creeping through the main hallway like a silent killer. Without hesitation, she removes the ring from her right middle finger, places it in her mouth like a fine praline, and swallows dramatically. She would rather search for the ring in her own excrement hours later than lose it entirely. After all, her excrement would at least consist of the most luxurious foods, consumed exclusively in Michelin-starred restaurants.

It doesn’t take long for a robust silhouette, approximately three meters tall, to form in the depths of the green smoke. Its contours gradually become more defined.

“That looks like an elephant,” exclaims a bewildered Amelia Ashford.

And she isn’t wrong. The elephant shakes its massive ears, dispersing the smoke around itself and revealing its head. It has beautiful, deep eyes framed by long lashes. A gaze not unlike that of a wise human. It steps forward—emerging from the green smoke, finally revealing its entire massive body. It moves with great calmness, slow and deliberate. The flooring cracks faintly under the weight of its steps.

People begin to gather around, none of them having the slightest idea of what is unfolding before their eyes.

Clara Jensen, the marketing director, approaches the animal and gives it a long, analytical look.

“Does anyone know how a Thai elephant differs from others?” She glances back at her colleagues. “Well, do you?”

Henrik Dahlgren shrugs. “Not the faintest idea.”

“Why do you need to know that?” asks Amelia Ashford, puzzled.

Clara Jensen circles halfway around the elephant. Her gaze dances across its massive flank.

“Because,” she says calmly, “I assume, like you, I want to know what this elephant is doing here. Maybe it’s from Thailand and has a Black Ivory Coffee logo branded on its hide. That would make sense.”

“It’s true that we’ve ordered about thirty kilos of coffee from Black Ivory over the past year,” Gregory Langston, the procurement manager, states. After a brief pause, he adds, “Even with a bulk discount, that’s around thirty thousand dollars. We’d deserve some attention from them by now, wouldn’t we?”

“But what are we supposed to do with a damn elephant?!” Henrik Dahlgren blurts out, irritated. He has already retrieved the luxury watch from its hiding spot and returned it to his wrist. “Somebody call Black Ivory right now and tell them they’ve gone too far! And we’ll bill them for the damaged tiles! Damn it, is this building even structurally engineered to withstand an adult elephant walking around?”

Dahlgren’s last words incite panic among the onlookers—except for Clara Jensen, who steps closer to the elephant, extends her right hand, and slowly runs her fingers along its rough skin.

“It’s really real,” she whispers in awe, purely to herself, as her eyes well up with tears.

“And this is why you should never take those eco-activists seriously,” Amelia Ashford remarks indignantly. “They’re always whining about rainforests and endangered species, and meanwhile, elephants are strolling into buildings.”

At the opposite end of the hallway, the elevator doors part with their obligatory chime, and two security guards rush out, armed with electric tasers and wearing tactical vests with bulging pockets. One of them still has an unfinished protein bar clenched between his teeth.

“Out of the way! Move aside!” they shout over one another, the muffled speech of the one with the bar barely intelligible. They weave through the crowd of managers and stop just a few meters from the elephant, crouching slightly as they aim their tasers at it.

“Damn, that really is a live elephant,” says the one who had already finished his snack.

“What the hell is it doing?” mumbles the one still holding the protein bar.

“Gentlemen, let’s keep calm,” says Gregory Langston, stepping between the elephant and the guards with his palms raised. “We suspect it’s just a botched marketing stunt. Also, I’d wager those tasers of yours might not work as intended.”

“We’re just following security protocol, sir,” defends the guard with the clearer speech, adjusting his aim to find the best angle to hit the elephant without accidentally targeting the meddling manager.

“And your protocol definitely doesn’t cover elephants entering—”

Then it happens. Amelia Ashford’s stomach suddenly decides it has something to say about the presence of the aforementioned ring inside it. It’s worth noting that the ring is a fairly massive Rose Dior Pré Catelan, shaped like a blooming rose and unfortunately adorned with painfully sharp edges. It’s entirely understandable that her stomach would want to rid itself of such an intruder.

At first, Amelia feels a mild nausea, which gradually evolves into soft cramps. These are soon followed by a sharp pressure under her sternum as the muscles around her stomach begin to contract and release in waves. She clutches her abdomen and starts to breathe heavily. Then, with powerful convulsions, a bitter, acidic taste floods her mouth, and in the next moment, the entire contents of her stomach erupt from her mouth like an uncontrollable geyser. A vile mixture of Michelin-starred meals and luxury coffee splatters against the back of the security guard’s head—the one still chewing on his protein bar.

The guard, shocked, bites down hard on his soggy protein bar. The now-slimy ring clinks as it hits the floor. In his surprise, the guard squeezes the trigger on his taser. One metal projectile hits Gregory Langston in the chest, and the other lodges in his shoulder. The resulting electric shock straightens Langston like a plank, his arms fluttering at his sides like the wings of a paper airplane caught in the wind. The paralyzed Langston topples backward, landing squarely on the front leg of the previously calm elephant.

The elephant’s trunk rises like a striking cobra. With a single swipe of its massive foot, it sends Langston flying into Clara Jensen, knocking them both to the floor like sacks of sand.

What follows is a terrifying trumpet blast as the elephant charges forward! Everyone in its path leaps aside like extras in an action movie. The green smoke swirls, and all eyes are trapped in the dense, saturated haze. All anyone can hear is the pounding of massive feet, accompanied by the sound of cracking tiles and a faint tremor underfoot. At the end of the hallway lies the elevator, and everyone braces for the inevitable, cataclysmic impact. But then—nothing.

Just like that, the thundering footsteps stop.

The green haze gradually dissipates. The elephant is gone.

Cautiously, the people follow its trail of shattered tiles. The tracks stop abruptly right in front of the elevator.

“Can someone please explain what just happened?” Henrik Dahlgren asks, his voice trembling.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” whimpers Amelia Ashford, clutching her aching stomach.

“And yet, it happened,” Clara Jensen states matter-of-factly.

Henrik Dahlgren nervously scratches at his reddened forehead. “Who knows what toxins were in that green gas.”

“I’ll propose a new procedure for dealing with elephants in the building at the next leadership meeting,” mutters Amelia Ashford. “But first…I need to find my ring.” With that, she hobbles back to where she had vomited, where Gregory Langston still lies unconscious.

Clara Jensen kneels by the devastated floor and examines the center of one of the elephant’s footprints.

“Maybe we’re all in much worse shape,” she says, “than we’re willing to admit. That elephant was absurdly real. And yet, so absurd it couldn’t possibly have been imagined.” She places her hand in the middle of the print. “What if the elephant didn’t come from outside at all? What if it’s always been with us? After all, we all drink coffee made from elephant dung—what did we expect?”

Vivienne Gale has been standing off to the side the entire time, observing the chaos and her colleagues. She cautiously peeks into the coffee room and sees that the vibrations from the elephant’s run had shattered the display case, leaving the Ginori cups scattered in shards on the floor.

“A corporate Ganesha appeared to us,” she murmurs to herself, “and tore our world apart.” She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. Finally, she exhales, “Thank God I’m an atheist.”

III.

Upon returning from his Caribbean vacation, Thaddeus Raventhorn is immediately faced with a slew of resignations, with more expected in the coming weeks. All of them are from senior managers with offices on the seventieth floor—those who had witnessed the strange events that day. At first, Raventhorn dismisses the tales of an elephant in green smoke as nonsense, but the security footage, which clearly captures everything, quickly pulls him into an inescapable reality.

Months later, when the footage somehow leaks to the public despite strict security measures, it takes the world by storm. Raventhorn resigns in response—the first time in his career that he’s been unable to comment on a situation during a press conference held specifically for the leaked video.

During the subsequent meeting with shareholders, he sits in silence, head bowed, nervously wringing a monogrammed handkerchief under the table. As furious shareholders continue to barrage him with questions, his mind drifts, and he tries to recall where he got the beautifully soft handkerchief. Was it a gift from his wife? His mistress? Or perhaps from the managers now packing their belongings into cardboard boxes? Hard to say, really.

As his fingers twist the fabric, Thaddeus Raventhorn once again reflects on the elephant in the green smoke and everything that followed. He begins to laugh. Loudly. Defiantly. Ignoring the rising clamor of the shareholders, he lets the laughter take over, uncontrollable and unchecked.

Looking back, it all starts to feel like a grand, elaborate joke. It goes something like this: “In a building full of corporate animals, a real elephant suddenly appears out of nowhere…” Isn’t that just hilarious?