Purely by Accident

by Jim Beegle

  Before departing for the airport Mark shut down the house. He was not worried about anyone breaking in and stealing anything as much as he was about forgetting to turn off the gas to one of the heaters, thus creating a fire hazard. Or maybe forgetting to turn off the stereo to protect it from damage should one of the powerful thunderstorms the area was known for blow through. The cold weather made that a rather remote possibility at the moment, but it was now as much habit as making the coffee first thing in the morning. He did not worry about the place that much. The Willies kept a close eye on things for him when he was away. With the most important things needed for his trip packed and the house in idle mode, Mark quickly grabbed his well-used travel bag where he had hung it in his closet Friday night and headed downstairs and out the door, locking it behind himself.

  The drive to the Dallas/Ft. Worth International Airport was uneventful. The roads were clear and dry, and so was the weather. Mark spent most of his time either fiddling with the car’s radio or filling and lighting his pipe. He split his driving time between thinking about his presentation for the next day and trying to decide exactly how he wanted to carry out his decision regarding the millions of dollars sitting in Jonus Roddy’s bank in the Bahamas. Both required that he form plans and then contingency plans. One of the things that Mark had learned to do over the years was try to think through problems by looking at them from different angles, all the time trying to guess what could go wrong. Then when things did not go as planned, as was usually the case, he could quickly shift into one of the other plans without as much difficulty and trauma. It was easy to do because of the time he had already spent considering the contingency aspect of the things he was dealing with.

  He would spend hours and sometimes days thinking through software issues until he was either comfortable with his plans or until he reached an impasse. When the latter happened he would mentally set it aside for a while. He worked over his current software issues in this manner for a good hour or so before switching his thoughts to the money and the problems that still had to be worked out surrounding it. His mind went back and forth several times over as his Chevy Malibu covered the miles between Runaway Bay and the city. The Sunday traffic was light and he made his way to the airport with very little trouble. He parked his car at the in the short-term parking lot of the sprawling American Airlines terminal complex.

  Three major airports service the traveling public of the Dallas/Ft. Worth Metroplex. Ft. Worth has the large and fairly modern Alliance Airport, but it was used mostly as a cargo and maintenance facility. The oldest and smallest of the airports dedicated to passenger service in Dallas was Love Field, located in the city of Dallas itself. It was built when all of the airplanes that carried passengers had propellers on the engines and people would dress up in their Sunday finest to travel. In the mid-1960s the cities of Dallas and Ft. Worth decided not to attempt to build separate modern airports to accommodate the new jets being used by the airlines now serving both cities. Instead, they choose to create one large complex to service the whole region. DFW International Airport opened in the early 1970s and was immediately proclaimed a success and a model for other cities to follow. It was located on several square miles of converted pastureland that straddled the Dallas and Tarrant county lines. The original plan agreed upon before construction began called for Dallas to close Love Field several months after DFW opened. And it would have too, had it not been for the spunky upstart regional carrier, Southwest Airlines.

  Southwest Airlines was rumored to have begun life in the typical Texas fashion: an idea that two Dallas businessmen sketched out on a bar napkin over drinks one night after work. The plan was cater mainly to business people flying between the three major but widely separated cities—Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio. The airline that was envisioned in the bar would fly often and cheaply in order to encourage business travelers to leave their cars at home and take to the air instead. Southwest was still in the startup phase of their plan when DFW International opened for business. Unable to sell tickets as cheaply as they needed to and still pay the much higher landing fees required at the new airport, Southwest went to court and sued to keep Love Field open. After a rancorous and often heated battle, a compromise was accepted. The deal worked out was known as the Wright Amendment, taking its name from then-Speaker of the House, Fort Worth Congressman Jim Wright, who authored the legislation that contained the compromise law. Southwest could continue to fly out of Love Field but, in exchange for being able to stay in the older Dallas Airport, the airline agreed that it would only fly from Dallas to the four states that bordered Texas: New Mexico, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana. If you needed to or wanted to fly from Dallas Love Field to, say Houston or Little Rock, it was a simple matter of going to the airport, buying a ticket, and boarding a plane.

  However, if you wanted to go from Dallas Love Field to Phoenix, it involved a lot more steps. You would have to buy a ticket and board a plane in Dallas that would take you to El Paso or Albuquerque. Once there, you would have deplane and purchase another ticket to take you from to El Paso or Albuquerque on to Phoenix. If you were unfortunate enough to have checked a bag in Dallas, you would have to claim the bag in either Albuquerque or El Paso and recheck it when you bought your additional ticket for your continued trip to Phoenix. Despite the aggravation, lots of people chose to endure the trials of flying on Southwest Airlines for the age-old reason most ordinary people choose: saving money. In most cases, even with the need for two tickets, the cost of traveling to Phoenix on Southwest Airlines was half that of traveling on the major carriers that flew out of DFW International.

  This afternoon Mark was following the dictates of his employer and his secretary Sandy and would fly directly from Dallas/Ft. Worth International to Phoenix on an American Airlines flight.

  Mark left his car in the lot, noting where it was in his cell phone. More than once, in a rush to catch a plane he was late for, he had dashed to the boarding gate without remembering to orient himself as to where he left the car. He always regretted it when he returned and had to spend a good half-hour trying to find it. Since he had no bags to check he made his way through security and to the boarding area. The flight to Phoenix left on time and the air was smooth and clear, allowing Mark to quickly fall off to sleep. In-flight snacks and drinks came and went without him being disturbed at all. Mark did not wake until he was lightly shaken by a flight attendant and told bring his seat up because the plane would soon be landing in Phoenix.

  He took all of his personal belongings and walked off the plane and through the terminal to the outside. Once out of the building Mark spotted the courtesy van for the Airport Courtyard Hotel and made the two-mile trip without paying much attention to the process. It only took a few minutes for him to exchange his credit card information for yet another electronic key for yet another hotel room door. He piled his suitcase and briefcase on the foot of the bed.

  After using the bathroom and stretching his legs by touring the room, Mark pulled out his laptop computer and began working on his part of the presentation for the next day. The computer work occupied the better part of the evening. The television remained idle for most of the time, even though there would have been several football games to pick from. Slowly Mark worked his way through the software documentation and his morning presentation. The best he could hope for was to be allowed to present his part, go back to the airport, and go home. He knew that this was more than likely not going to happen. It was never that easy.

  DECCO was a large company with a huge payroll and managers to manage the managers. In short, the only way to make your mark at DECCO or any company like it was to either come up with a groundbreaking idea on your own or to hook your wagon to someone who did. The former was actually how Micronix came to DECCO’s attention. A small, nimble company that latched onto a need in the market and found a way to satisfy that need. It was done quickly with a product that was simple and elegant. Everyone, including DECCO, knew what t
he hurdles had been in the printing and publishing industry. DECCO knew and had a team of people working on the problem for years when Micronix announced their new software package. What easier way to take advantage of the hard work of another company than to buy it?

  And now Micronix was in the DECCO “family,” as it were. The influence of the larger company, DECCO, was now infecting Micronix at every level. The layers of rules and procedures that had to be followed had changed the company Mark had poured his life into from a nimble player of the game into an overweight fan sitting on the sidelines watching. With every passing week, Mark regretted more and more the day that he signed over his shares of Micronix. Seeing DECCO exert its control over Micronix was like watching one of your children get sick and slowly die; it was that painful for him.

  He worked on the presentation until he could no longer type without making more stokes than backward correction keystrokes. He saved his work and turned off the computer. The freshly made bed and sleep now called loudly to him. The next day would start early and run late, and Mark knew, as he drifted off to sleep, that he would regret the late hour.

  DECCO sent a car for him the next morning. The trip to the main office of the company was made in silence looking out the car window but not looking at anything in particular. His mind wandered between the project, the meeting, the money, and Amy. He wondered if she would be home when he got back that evening. He also wondered what kind of mood she would be in. He tried to understand; he knew what the short trips to Phoenix did to his body. He could imagine how Amy must feel after crossing the numerous time zones between Dallas and Eastern Europe.

  Upon arriving at the DECCO office he was led into the conference room that was already beginning to fill with other men dressed in the same type of conservative business suit he wore. With the single exception that part of them replaced the trousers in favor of a skirt—even the woman in the room wore the same type of clothes as the men. Mark put his things down by a seat middle ways down from the head of the long oval table that took up the biggest part of the room. He removed his phone from his briefcase and walked to an unused cubical in the office area. He sat down in the cloth-covered chair, searched the contacts and called the number he found.

  On the other end of the phone was a florist in Dallas that he used when he needed to send flowers. He talked to the woman, whom he casually knew from previous orders, for a minute before telling her to pick out something nice for about fifty dollars and send the arrangement to Ms. Marin Yates at the IBC Building, International Division. He asked the lady to simply write “thanks” and sign his name to the card. There was a little niggling concern that Amy might see the flowers, but he doubted that she would take any time from her pursuit of a directorship to notice a card attached to flowers at the desk of one of the assistants in her office. Besides, he imagined that Marin would not leave the card on for long anyway. Either way, he wanted her to know that he appreciated her help. It was a small risk to take and worth every bit of it. When he finished he went back to the conference room, got a cup of coffee from the urn in the corner, and took his seat.

  The meeting began with the dimming of the lights in the room and a series of Power Points being flashed onto a screen that magically materialized out of the ceiling. They were the same slides he had seen weeks ago. Actually, they were the same ones he had seen six months earlier; the same people discussing the same problem. The thought of watching a dog chase his tail crossed through Mark’s mind as the second speaker took his turn. Secretaries walked in and out of the room, as a parade of white coated waiters delivered lunch to the assembly.

  Soon after the working lunch came Mark’s turn at the lectern. Unlike his fellow presenters, when he took his place in front of the assembled mass his coat was off, tie undone, and top shirt-button undone. His last few nights of work were distilled down to one slide that Mark projected onto the screen. It was made up of a series of numbers and calculations. It was not colorful and did not contain any pie charts. His accompanying narration was as straightforward as the overhead, and it was delivered without preamble.

  “As I see it we have one of two choices,” Mark began after he gave the room time to look at his only slide. “We can slip the shipping date … again, or we can ship a product that doesn’t work.” There was a long pause in the room before one of DECCO’s many vice presidents spoke.

  “And what brings you to that conclusion?” He asked.

  “Have you loaded the software and tied to run it?” Mark asked. This time the pause was longer and his co-workers in the room looked either down at the table or out the windows into the hall. “I thought so,” he said not breaking his gaze. “Based on some very unscientific research done in my office, once the software is installed it either refuses to launch or it crashes the system. Now I know we have a wonderfully skilled marketing department, but even they can’t convince anyone that these are enhancements to the software.”

  “We are working on the fixes for the few minor bugs still in the code. We’ll be ready to ship on time.” This came from a woman from midway down the table. Mark looked at her and then let his gaze scan the rest of the people in the room. She continued, “We are fully aware of the problems, and they are not that dramatic. We will have patches ready shortly.” Even as she spoke it was obvious to the people in the room she was reading from a script written for the occasion.

  “I don’t share your confidence.” Mark said after a long, silent pause. “The truth of the matter is you are at least a year away from having something that will be what we promised our customers at the CES this year.” The vice president who had spoken earlier leaned back in his chair and looked at Mark.

  “I understand that you have a highly emotional connection to this project. I admire that kind of spirit. It is one of the reasons we are all glad you choose to stay with the company after the buyout but,” he paused and moved back to a full sitting position, “it’s out of your hands now. We will meet the ship date and the problems will be fixed.” He said this looking down the table at the woman who had been speaking. Mark stood his ground and looked at the man.

  “Wishing it so isn’t going to change the facts.” Mark said in a low but clear voice.

  The focus of the room narrowed to these two men. Without speaking a word, a struggle ensued. It went on for several moments before the vice president turned away to shuffle papers in front of him. Even to the people who didn’t like him and his comments, it was obvious that senior management of the company had already decided to ship the product, working or not, on schedule. Mark might be a pain in the ass, but he was right. Now everyone in the room understood that the problems with the software were far greater than just a few bugs. Mark walked back to his place at the long conference table. As he got to his seat the room unanimously decided a break was needed, even though one was not called for. The occupants of the room evaporated into the hallway. Mark stood in the same position for another minute before taking his leave as well. Unlike the others, when Mark left the room he took his briefcase and suitcase with him and headed for the front door.

  In the reception area, he asked the woman tending the switchboard if she would be kind enough to call him a cab. She agreed to do so right away; she had a pleasant voice. She was dialing as Mark made his way to the main door. He was in need of a smoke and besides the weather in Phoenix was so nice at this time of year that resorts could command hundreds of dollars a night for a room. It would be a shame to spend all day inside and not be able to enjoy some of it. He filled his pipe from the worn leather pouch tucked in his coat pocket. There was a small area for employees to enjoy the sun on the east side of the building. Mark took a seat at the picnic table and lit his pipe. He sat and enjoyed the quiet, warm day and the smoke while he waited for his cab.

  The cab arrived a few minutes later and the driver loaded Mark and his bags into the back for the quick twenty-minute ride to Sky Harbor International Airport. Even though he left the meeting earlier tha
n he planned to, he would not be able to get back to Dallas any sooner than his originally scheduled flight. That didn’t seem to be a real problem. At least the airport was away from DECCO and the steady drone of PowerPoint presentations. He confirmed his seat and exchanged the return ticket in his briefcase for a boarding pass at the main lobby of the terminal 3 building. All that was left to do now was entertain himself until time to board the plane..

  The flight was half-full and boarded quickly. It pushed away from the gate on time and sat on the end of the runway only a few minutes before beginning its leap into the air for the two-and-a-half-hour flight. Mark whiled away the flight drinking Coke and continuing to read the paper he had bought in the airport. When the plane began a long, slow descent into the regional traffic pattern of DFW International, Mark looked up and out the window for the first time, only to realize that another day had closed without his noticing it. It was already dark outside the airplane.

  Even without referring to the notes in his phone, he managed to find his car on the first try. The line of cars going out of the airport was heavier than usual for a Monday, but then this was Thanksgiving Week and people were already trying to make it home for the holiday. Amy had invited her parents and some people from work for dinner on Thursday. It was the tradition in their house that Mark did the cooking on the holidays and Amy controlled the guest list. It wasn’t an equal division of labor but it seemed to work out. Mark liked it in the kitchen, and Amy liked her part of playing the “hostess with the mostest” as she worked the room. This gathering, like all the others at their home, would not be a holiday meal, but an opportunity to network with people she would need at some point in her career. Her parents were incidental.