The Drunk Foreman

"I want something built here," the foreman slurred. "Sir? Don't you think this area is a little... unstable?" Michael looked over the blueprints, running his hands nervously through his hair. "No, no. Right here. It's perfect!" The foreman clumsily grasped some supplies and wandered towards the site before Michael grabbed his shoulder. "Let's just let the workers take care of the nitty gritty, sir." "Fine," the foreman groaned, falling into his chair. "Just remember... the lighting has to be PERFECT. I want fountains, too! Water everywhere. Not too much, there has to be a work floor, of course!" Michael moaned. This wasn't in the blueprints at all. What was he talking about? "Also," the foreman belched, "be sure to have some animals and plants to populate the fountains, the work space, and any unoccupied space above it." "Sir, that seems a little dangerous..." Michael interjected. The foreman ignored him and continued. "And we're going to need some new workers." The foreman kicked his feet up. "But we have workers, sir." Michael pointed to the dozen or so men and women near the site. "No, no... new blood. And be quick about it. We've got six days." "Wait, WHAT? Six days?" Michael began to pace. "Yeah, technically seven. But I want that last day off."