by Cara Charles
‘If she couldn’t handle her crew, she had to go.’
The BAG geeks lacked compassion. The fine print on their MBA diplomas said ‘love numbers, hate people.’
Shirley was about to serve him his head to keep her own.
FOOTSTEPS. Shirley entered the room alone, reading a thick folder.
Her red, black and white striped dime store reading glasses were on the end of her nose. They comically magnified her blue eyes, lined in dime store aqua shadow, under her gray, tightly permed hair and Christmas sweater. She could be his grandmother. She had no fashion sense except for the 70’s retro look. She was a kind woman, even under extreme pressure, like now.
‘My personnel file, no doubt. Yes it is. Shit.’
Her body language was ‘all business.’
Sean had a smile ready for her, but when she didn’t look at him, the smile fell off his face. He coughed, lots of crud rattled in his chest.
She left the door open. All had gone home to spend their weekends on holiday things, their minds far away from old secrets.
Sean sensed there would be no reasoning with her this time. He was S.O.L.
“I’m sure you know why you’re here, Sean,” Shirley began. “So, you are sick.”
“Yes ma’am,” Sean choked, trying to squeeze out a wheeze or two. Sean’s heart sank. ‘Shit, Ivy League Geeks one, Sean zero.’
Shirley kept reading while he had a coughing fit. The best empathy she could muster was handing him the box of Kleenex. Shirley flipped back a page.
“Your previous three verbal warnings centered around extending Independence Day, Labor Day, Veteran’s Day, and the latest, Thanksgiving was the deciding factor.” Now she looked at him. “No one is sick every holiday, Sean.”
He took a breath to say something then stopped. ‘Good, three written warnings to go.’
But Shirley was heavy with instincts he’d learned while working for her for eighteen months before they promoted him. Without looking up, Shirley put her index finger up to stop his optimistic, internal dialogue.
“However... We are firing you for ‘just cause.’ ‘Just cause’ allows us to skip the three written warnings per the collective bargaining agreement. Your union rep is on vacation, but he said, ‘there was nothing he could do, other than appeal this ruling.’”
‘Shit. That can’t be right? There is no just cause, but how do you fight the wheels of a huge bureaucracy when they’ve made up their mind?’
Sean didn’t know what to say, not knowing his contractual rights. He’d never been fired before.
‘Shouldn’t the shop steward be here, anyway?’ Sean looked at his shoes. ‘When are you going to stop being a fuck-up? When you’re homeless? Hiding from the cops, while begging in the Metro?’
“Do you have anything to say before you clean out your desk?” Shirley looked at him. He was so sad.
“Only that I’m still a chronic twelve year old, fuck-up. Oh God. Sorry, Mrs. Cronkite. I can’t even control my mouth around my elders. I can’t explain it. But I am so sorry I caused you this trouble. With those numerous slow-downs, I thought I was saving the department money. You’ve been very nice to me. And this is how I repay you. Making you look bad. I’m sorry.”
“It’s your selective absenteeism that’s the issue. I understand your motivation now.”
Shirley had raised a grandson Sean’s age. He too was afflicted with the ‘fuck-up’ generation disease. Her grandson was dead now a year come New Years, a victim of his own inability to curb his need to live on the edge like his mother. Shirley so wanted to save this one.
“You are a brilliant young man, Sean. The best I’ve got. Yet, you love to play Russian roulette with your professional life. Rules... are meant to protect your job. It just kills me, that you’ve never understood that. When will you man up, put aside childish things, and become the respected young man you were destined to become?”
“Soon, I hope. Maybe when the sobering reality of being homeless, cold, and hungry becomes my life. Maybe then, I will snap out of this relentless stupidity. I really do have some lucid moments Mrs. Cronkite, believe it or not. Maybe my problem is I’ve never suffered extreme hardships like a lot of people are now. But I’ll be there, soon enough.”
“Sean? You’d take your life that far? Do you really have to prove you can claw your way back to the surface just to prove only you are responsible for every victory in your life? Sometimes that struggle eats away at what survival strength you do have, and you run out of air before you make it back to the surface. Sometimes people just give up, because the climb back up is just too hard. Everyone needs a hand up now and then, Sean. That’s why we have two hands, dear. To pull each other up when we fall.”
“I earned this. I don’t want you to lose your job because of me.”
Sean hung his head with nothing to further to say.
That was answer enough for Shirley. His generation’s ease at accepting their fate still astounded her.
Sean was a bit depressed, immature, impulsive, and his intelligence made him rationalize. Worst of all, he failed to realize the odds were always against him, yet he hadn’t learned to curb the impulse to take huge risks.
She knew this behavior well. Sean was still growing up. She didn’t want to fire him. She knew she had to snap him out of his self-destructive funk.
All of the strategies she had used with her grandson and her daughter had failed. But for Sean, anything short of nothing was worth a try. She’d convinced her superiors, and his Ivy League Geeks, Sean was the best archivist she’d ever had. Shirley had convinced the ‘IVY LEGS’ Sean called them that he was worth keeping. Maybe this time with this young man, he’d really listen to her, and she’d succeed and so would he.
“Well Sean? If you have nothing further to say, let’s clean out your desk and get you checked out before the snowstorm hits. The Weather Channel said to expect two feet of snow and a shut down city by morning. Next time dear wait for a “real snow day.”
Shirley grabbed the discharge checklist clipboard.
They rode down to his floor in silence.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED at Sean’s desk, empty legal file boxes were waiting for him.
Shirley watched his shoulders sag. ‘Whatever hope he had was now dead. Good.’
Shirley sat, as he packed up his things.
Sean remembered this was part of the discharge process from the employee’s manual; to make sure employees were not taking out any documents. He opened everything that could hold zip drives, showing her he wasn’t a thief, too.
Shirley had long ago noticed he didn’t have a picture of a girlfriend, buddies, pets, or parents on his desk, quite the minimalist. He was done.
“All right. Leave the boxes for now and come with me.”
Shirley checked off the item.
They headed toward the security room.
ROGERS BENSON, her old friend the security guard was waiting for him. Like an airport security check, Rogers had him empty his pockets and remove his shoes. Rogers walked him through the scanner, patted him down, waved the wand over him, and examined his jacket, belt, shoes, wallet, keys, and change for flash drives.
“All clear Shirley. Hate to see you go Sean. Good luck son.”
“Me too Rogers. You’ve been good to me. It’s been real.”
Sean stepped forward and shook Rogers’ hand. Shirley hid her smile.
“All right Sean. Follow me.” Shirley smiled at her old pal, Rogers.
It was painful for Shirley not talking to him, watching him walk, shoulders heavy with rejection.
Shirley felt the heaviness of this all too familiar situation. ‘God forbid.’ A tear fell on the paperwork. She looked up to keep her tears from spilling the beans.
Back in the elevator, she pushed a button and the doors closed.
Sean sighed, struggling to find the right thing to say. His shoulders fell. There’d be no further contrition.
THE ELEVATOR DOOR OPENED. Sean was surprised be
cause they were now in the garage.
“Is Rogers bringing my stuff to my car?”
“I’m taking you to dinner around the corner to give you ideas on where to look for your next job. In forty years, I’ve made a few friends.”
“No thank you ma’am. I feel bad enough without you paying for...”
“Sean? This is part of the exit interview. You’re still on the clock.”
“Oh. Then, yes ma’am. Thank you.”
Shirley had put money, her IDs, and license in her suit jacket pocket with her keys. They got into her aging pink Dodge four-door sedan. The radio was on. As she backed out of her assigned parking space, they heard...
“In the world of business, ninety-four year old Russian billionaire Ivan Kimirov identified as shot by police and running from the scene of the Friedrichstrasse train station bombing in Berlin and wanted by Interpol, is reported by his personal physician Dr. Franken of Berlin and his houseman Peder Rubikov, to have died peacefully in his sleep today in his New York City penthouse. It is speculated he’ll be leaving his vast mining fortune to his only heir, thirty-nine year old granddaughter, Mavra Kimirov. Following the disappearance of her family five years ago...”
‘Enough death.’ Shirley turned it off, and headed downtown.
IT WAS A HOVERING, blue-gray flannel sky. Downy flurries were already escaping the heavy, blue snow clouds, promising to suffocate the busy city. The heater in her big car soon kept them warm. She’d purposefully forgotten their coats. Shirley had been driving for longer than around the block.
‘Let him wonder.’ Shirley was relieved Sean didn’t know the area.
SHIRLEY PARKED at the back door of an ancient, red brick building.
The snow was sticking to the road. A hush was in the snow-feathered air.
Sean slipped in behind Shirley as she entered the building.
HE FOUND himself in a commercial kitchen in full prep of a buffet dinner.
Shirley hugged chef Mark, a good-looking Boomer who went back to work at the steam tables.
Shirley removed Sean’s sport jacket, spun him and tied on his apron. Shirley “knighted” him with a huge serving spoon, then shoved it in his hand. She tied on a frilly Christmas, red and green polka-dot apron.
Shirley in that apron made him smile. Her face was still sober, so the smile fell from Sean’s face.
“Just match the size of the portions Mark gives our patrons.”
Then she smiled.
Sean’s heart melted.
Before he could answer, Shirley shoved him toward the tray line. She chuckled. She put on oven mitts, and grabbed a bus tray full of steaming hand towels.
Mark opened the sliders to the tray line, Sean by his side.
BEYOND WERE rows of tables set up cafeteria style. Brightly colored bulletin boards full of job information, shelter schedules, bus schedules, Medical and Legal Clinic addresses, and phone numbers, inspirational posters on the cheerful spring green colored walls, and kids’ finger paintings, all Christmas themes, made the room a happy place. Shirley matched the decor.
Shirley opened the front door as Mark and Sean shook hands and received some instruction.
HUNGRY PEOPLE OF ALL AGES and conditions came in, in an orderly fashion. Shaking off the snow from their hats and jackets, stomping the wet from their boots and shoes.
Shirley greeted many by name, patting them on the back. Many had no gloves. She felt their cold hands, and she rubbed them warm like any good mother. They smiled and took a warm, moist towel, happy to be warm, and on their way to the buffet line.
The Mission of the Shepherd was open for dinner.
Shirley watched Sean’s eyes settle on the young men. Some had been down on their luck a long time. The young, former professional guys, whose business haircuts were still evident, bothered him the most.
She hoped he was thinking, “...there, but for the grace of God...”
“Hi. I’m Sean,” he said warmly introducing himself.
Some would share their names others nod, but not interact. Some felt him trying to figure them out and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Everyone had a story.
Families entered the line. Shirley watched Sean greet them.
He loved the kids. He wasn’t inhibited by sympathy for them, as many new to the Mission experience, were known to do. He was up beat. He knew to treat them with dignity and bring a little human kindness to their lives.
Sean’s face, dropped. He’d recognized Mike and Sarah Erskine and their little boy.
‘God. It’s Mike from the club.’
Sean felt sick. Sean had played Racquetball with Mike often, but hadn’t seen him in a year. So this is what had happened to Mike and his family.
Mike froze. It was Sean. Mike set his jaw and looked at his feet. Their eyes never met.
Sean sensed Mike’s embarrassment. Sean watched the color rise on Mike’s neck.
Sarah sensed a change. She put a hand through Mike’s arm and followed her husband’s gaze to Sean.
Sean looked up and their eyes met. He nodded.
Sarah smiled bravely, recognizing him.
Sean smiled then greeted the patrons in front of him. When Sean looked up to check on Mike, he was trying to leave the line.
Sarah whispered in his ear.
Mike nodded, as tension drained from his face.
Sean glanced at Sarah, sensing how hard it was to keep her man from bolting.
Mike had been a firefighter and Sarah a teacher.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sean watched the Erskines move closer. Sean smiled at all he served. It was Mike’s family’s turn.
“Hi Mike!”
Sean was trying hard to be up beat, respectful, surprised. Sean was genuinely happy to see him, hoping the tone was not too animated.
“Hey. What are you doing here, Sean? Community service?”
“Ya. Hi, little man. Hi Sarah. Right? I’m sorry things are rough for you and your family.”
Sean watched Mike bristle.
Sarah smiled and stuck her hand out to shake Sean’s hand, while holding onto Mike with the other.
Sean read it all on her face. All Mike had to do was take a step away from her.
Her face lit up but her tired eyes said, ‘Mike is tired of me being upbeat, but I won’t be defeated. Mike knows if he bolts, I won’t make a scene. But I want you to know Sean I believe, ‘tomorrow is a new day.’
‘Sarah you’re his lifeline,’ Sean said with his smile.
“Hi. That’s right. It’s been a challenging year, but we believe tomorrow’s a new day.”
“My wife’s a ninety-niner. I’m about there myself. Out of time and out of Extended Benefits, thanks to the heartless Republicans and hopefully not out in the cold streets.”
“Again,” their little boy said.
Sarah added, “But... we’re so thankful for places like this. We both got the budget shortfall axe about the same time, and then we lost our home. There are a lot of us out here, without extended families to help. But seeing you today Sean, our luck could be turning. Sometimes, ‘it’s who you know, not what you know.’ You can find us here on, Thursday nights. By the way, ‘Sean’ is one of our favorite names. Meet our own little Sean.”
“Hi, little Sean.”
“Mommy says you might be able to find one of them a job.”
Little Sean looked at his mother, then at his feet. He’d heard those hopeful, but unproductive words of his mother’s before. You could feel he was torn between his two role models, the hopeful one, and the hopeless one. Then he looked up at his mother, knowing she was still smiling at him. He rolled his shoulder, so she’d remove her hand.
Sarah tickled his ear.
That made him smile.
“Your Mom is right. Listen, Sean? I promise. I will find your Mom and Dad when I bug all my contacts for any kind of job. Mike, Sarah, you have my word. Your last name, again is?”
“Erskine,” Sarah, Little Sean, and Mike said simultaneously. They laughed
.
Mike’s frown melted away. Mike rumpled his son’s hair, smiled, and shook Sean’s hand.
“Thanks man. That’s real decent of you,” Mike said with energy.
“I’m happy to network for you, I’ll let you know through Shirley.”
“We love Shirley.”
“I can see everyone does.”
“Thanks man. You always were a straight up guy and a good player, even though I often kicked your... your socks off. We’d appreciate it.” Mike smiled. Hope had planted a seed.
Sarah shook Sean’s hand again with both hands, looking into Sean’s eyes.
“See you soon, Sean,” said in Erskine unison. Laughing felt good.
They left the line feeling brighter, Sarah more hopeful.
Little Sean smiled at Sean and gave him a ‘thumbs up.’
Mike led his family to a far table, and sat with his back to the tray line. It was easy to be anonymous in times of trouble, but run into someone you know humiliation gets resurrected.
Sean saw a heavy snow was falling now, as he turned his attention to the other patrons.
TWO MINUTES LATER, Sean looked at Mike and his family.
Sarah was watching the snow, fall.
Mike’s mood was back. He was shaking off a suggestion from her.
Sean knew what it was about. The snowstorm. And money.
Sarah was poised to push her chair back.
Mike gently placed his hand on top of hers, trying to change her mind without looking up.
Sarah pulled her chair back to the table and returned to eating.
Little Sean’s shoulders said, ‘Dad’s mood was back.’
‘Women will sacrifice pride to help their family survive.’ Sean would drop money and his cell number by their table, before he left. He knew to give it to Sarah.
‘Maybe he’d even let them stay with him, but for how long? Oops. Oh, ya.’ He’d forgot. As soon as dinner was over, he was out of a job.
Sean looked for Shirley who was busy handing out mittens, hats, and scarves. ‘So, this was Shirley’s way of showing him resources for his future.’
Shirley caught Sean’s eye and smiled. Sean had a second to return her smile before he greeted the next person.