The Golden Parachute

Every executive has an exit package. His is literal, golden, and gathering dust in the most affectionate way.

The package

Forged — he insists — from “the finest metaphors in the building,” his golden parachute hangs in a glass case in the corner office, polished monthly by the Intern. It has never been deployed. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “The ficus needs me.”

The clause

Section 7, paragraph 3 of his (fictional) contract contains the famous “everyone eats” clause: in the event of his departure, the entire staff receives the same package, scaled to tenure. Brenda from HR calls it “unprecedented and, frankly, lovely.” The lawyers call it “the reason we drink.”

The point

The parachute isn’t an exit plan; it’s a paperweight for the idea of leaving. The joke lands because the character does: for all the bluster about gold, the thing he actually hoards is people.