One day while he paid for his pizza, the counterman inquired if he wanted a drink. “No, thanks, sodas only increase my thirst!” Dame replied. The counterman shot Dane a look, took his two bills and slid a penny across the counter, though the slice was two dollars even. Was the penny his way of saying Dane was cheap for not ordering a drink? Dane fumed but swallowed the slight because he never boycotted great pizza.
And so his attempt to integrate himself in his work environs went about as well as his effort to manage at Mentos.
8. THE GLOVE
After his initial departmental probe, Dane agonized over how to make peace in his department. For a week he considered tactics to bring together the two intractable foes. He made no progress until one morning, as he drove to work, a McDonald’s billboard over Route 95 triggered an epiphany.
He would take Barbara to lunch, forge an alliance and together they would convince Ralph to respect her copy. It was a one-sided start, which was understandable since Dane was a writer, and editorial interference was an abuse he had suffered and wished to rectify. Yet, Dane was optimistic that if Ralph respected Barbara’s ownership of her words, she would abide by his editorial judgment. Once these boundaries were established and peace restored, Dane would take Barbara and Ralph out to lunch together and suggest ways they might use their overlapping skills as a team.
After this managerial epiphany, Dane might have been welladvised to call it a day’s work and turned off at the next exit since he had used up his allotment of good moments for the day. Just as cruising speed on Route 95 swiftly regressed into mysterious slowdowns, Dane’s can-do attitude had a way of reversing itself due to annoyances which cascaded into debacles.
First, his beloved cartridge pen slipped from his pants pocket while he was driving. When he parked in the garage and searched for the pen under his seat, the pin holding the leather wristband to the watchcase popped a spring, allowing his watch to slide off his wrist. If he tried slipping the spring in place, it would jump from his fingers and be eternally lost in the car upholstery. The day was on a downward spiral when Dane took himself in hand.
“Stop the childish compulsion, Dane!” he chided. “You’re a manager now.”
Dane glanced at his watch and saw that he was late. He stopped obsessing over little objects and got out of the car. It was a small victory over his dark side—and only 9:20 AM, “on time,” if he was awarded a twenty minute handicap.
As he dashed to the stairway labeled “EXIT,” Dane noticed Ralph, the senior editor, crossing the garage from the other end.
“If Ralph comes in now, I’m not late,” Dane reassured himself. He surmised that Ralph was as punctual as he was precise.
Though the editor was a reliable time marker, Dane did not want to talk to him. He raced up the stairs without acknowledging Ralph or waiting for him. Minutes later, the editor appeared in his office with Dane’s gloves in his right hand.
“Did you lose these?”
Seeing his most recent birthday gift in the hand of his underling and potential nemesis stunned Dane. He sensed his managerial stature crumbling.
“I did? Where did you find them?” Dane asked.
“On the stairs.”
“Right. Thanks. They must have fallen off my hands—I mean, out of my hands. I was rushing. I was late.”
Dane was ashamed of losing his gloves, but more so by how he lost them—by avoiding Ralph. In returning them, the editor let Dane know that he was unavoidable. More importantly, he showed Dane how colleagues should treat one another.
“Don’t mention it,” Ralph replied. As he turned to leave, Dane felt contrite. He had misjudged Ralph. The editor might have dumped the gloves in the trash or taken them for himself.
“Wait, Ralph. I appreciate what you’ve done. Can you join me for lunch tomorrow?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I want to. It won’t be fancy, but please be my guest.”
Ralph agreed.
Impulsively, Dane had jumpstarted the reconciliation process but not in the way he planned.
Lunch with Ralph held political risk. Barbara would view it as a shift in the balance of power against her. To mitigate this impression, Dane packaged the event in such a way that Barbara would dismiss it. Dane and Ralph went to the Chinese take-out in town and had their lunch on a bench near the marshes along the river.
“You must think I’ve got a big ego,” Ralph confided. “But my whole career has been about reducing the size of my ego. I once edited books until I lost my job. Then I edited articles at a magazine before the magazine folded. So, now I edit ads and promotional brochures. My next career move will probably be editing haikus.”
Dane laughed. It was a surprisingly self-deprecating and whimsical remark from someone who seemed tightly wound and serious. Maybe Dane could work with Ralph, after all, and bring about departmental peace.
As they ate, Dane believed Ralph had relaxed enough to discuss his conflict with Barbara.
“So what can we do to make peace?” Dane asked.
“The problems have been overblown,” Ralph replied. “You know how people get under pressure. That’s all it is.”
Faced with the same denial of reality as before, Dane felt cheated and ashamed for having lunch with Ralph. Although his gesture was to reciprocate a kindness, Dane hoped to catch the editor off guard and talk business. Ralph, however, was too canny for that.
Full of remorse, Dane stopped by Barbara’s cubicle when he returned to the office. Instinct dictated that he control the damage before she found out about his lunch with Ralph and the reconciliation plan was ruined.
“So you and Ralph had lunch,” Barbara said.
“How did you know?” Dane stammered, caught off guard.
“I was doing errands and saw you cross the bridge.”
“He found my gloves so I took him to lunch.”
“You don’t need to explain.”
“I intended to ask you out to lunch to discuss the situation.”
“Sure.”
“Then one day we’ll go out together as one department.
“I’ll pass. I want to enjoy my food, not throw up.”
“Ralph’s not a bad guy.”
“He’s lucky someone thinks so,” Barbara said, regarding Dane as if he were obscenely naïve.
9. HOME BOY
Dane returned to his office, closed the door and pressed his head between his palms. How did he ever delude himself that he had management skills? He longed for when he was told what to do and to do it again, when he was manipulated, criticized and abused. Anger was easier than anxiety. Ah, to hear the tongue lash against his ear that reminded him, “Peon! You’re not paid to think!”
In the middle of his emotional wallow, Dane received an unexpected call.
It was from Goldfarb, whose glowing reference enabled Dane to land this job. Goldfarb was taking a vacation week in Winton, so they met for lunch the following day.
Goldfarb, always a filmmaker at heart, staged a dramatic rendezvous on the estuary bridge. Dane barely recognized his old partner. Goldfarb looked relaxed and refreshed. His jacket collar was around his face, making his beard look full and his face round under his cap bill. In the city, Goldfarb looked haggard and rustic in an LL Bean parka, but in Winton’s mist he looked successful and robust.
“How’ve you been?” Dane asked. “How’s Integrimedicom?”
“Nadine’s still busting my balls.”
“It’s a miracle you still have any.”
“Speaking of which, I had a hernia.”
“How did you get it? Swimming? Riding a bike? Carrying layouts?”
“Athletic sex!” Goldfarb quipped. “Actually they don’t know how it happened.”
“Are you okay?”
“I needed an operation. It was awful. I don’t trust doctors and I didn’t want one touching me there! And I’m terrified of hospitals. The procedure lasted a half hour but I was sore for weeks. Fortunately,
I was able to…you know…have relations after only a month.”
Dane could not repress a smile.
“You think it’s funny!” Goldfarb remarked. “I’ve had my figurative balls cut off so many times you can’t imagine me having sex. But I do. It’s important to me.”
“It’s not that. I just remember how mad you were when your wife totaled your car.”
“She’s a pain. But there are things I didn’t mention,” Goldfarb said. The ex-partners carried paper bags of take-out from a Chinese restaurant and walked by the river. On damp benches by the marshes, they ate broccoli on brown rice and drank hot and sour soup like they were in Chinatown. They watched the ducks floating in the mist and exhaled cold, smoky air.
“So, how do you like it out here?” Goldfarb asked.
“I can see why you love Winton. It’s beautiful,” Dane replied.
“How’s your new job?”
“It’s okay. I’m in management and the people are unmanageable.”
“Now you know what you’re like!” Goldfarb chuckled. “So you’re a boss. Good for you. You’ll be a great boss.”
“I’m not so sure. So far, I’m not getting anywhere.”
“It’s hard. People in this business are crazy and they have watermelon sized egos. You know. You’ve got one.”
They laughed, then lapsed into slurping soup out of Styrofoam cups. Brindled mallards bobbed like corks on the green water. As Goldfarb ate his food in his habitat, he looked confident and successful. Dane was nonplussed. This was not the same Goldfarb he thought he knew—a spineless if affable lackey. Clearly, that was just a role Goldfarb played to keep his job. He was an ancient survivor like the Chinese serpent, shrewd and adaptable. At times, Dane wished he could be more like him.
“A boss has power,” Goldfarb said. “You can do things the right way for a change.”
“I don’t know if anyone wants things to be right,” Dane replied.
“You can try. What’s your alternative? Look around for another job? You’ve already moved around a lot,” Goldfarb said.
“Not always by choice,” Dane said.
“Not consciously,” Goldfarb replied. “But you can’t keep fighting yourself.”
“I’m just trying to find my way.”
Goldfarb nodded. His eyes were friendly.
“If you keep changing jobs, you may run out.”
Goldfarb had never challenged Dane this way when they worked together. He spoke like an advertising veteran of 25 years—and an older brother. Goldfarb’s concern comforted Dane but he chafed at the advice. Between Dane and the choice Goldfarb exhorted him to make was the distance between what he had and what he wanted, between striving and surrender. Yet he knew Goldfarb was only being practical. This was his livelihood. What else could he do that would pay him half as well?
“I don’t see a way out, but I can’t stop looking,” Dane said.
“I hope you find it,” Goldfarb sighed. “Meanwhile, you’re in a good position. Enjoy! Stop looking for an escape. Take each day as it comes and experience the moment.”
Dane had been surprised by how Goldfarb looked. Now he was shocked by what he said.
“This is a side of you I’ve never seen,” Dane said. “You sound so positive…like a self-help guru.”
“I have my moments,” Goldfarb conceded. “Look, I’ve got to run. We’re painting the house so we can sell it.”
Goldfarb crossed the bridge with Dane. “Check out Farmer Moe’s. It’s a nice walk,” he said.
When Dane returned to the office, Goldfarb’s questions took effect. Would he ever run out of places to work? It was fine to fantasize about purpose and destiny but what would he do for money? This was his fifth job in five years. His recent lay off had lasted for four months and his previous job at UNIHEALTH had gone for only two. He had to make Mentos work!
10. THE MOMENT PAYS OFF
Dane followed Goldfarb’s advice—about living in the moment, but particularly about going to Farmer Moe’s.
The pilgrimage to Farmer Moe’s was uphill and a half-mile east of downtown Winton. This was the grocery whose exotic package goods made Goldfarb salivate—gourmet chips, mango salsas, exotic jerkies, donuts fried in nut oils, cookies baked with whole grain granola, and eggs laid by happy hens from coops with satellite radio. Dane, still traumatized by his long lay-off and yet to receive his first Mentos check, was on a strict one-slice, one-coffee, one-tank-of-gas daily budget. But before leaving empty-handed, Dane grabbed the only bargain in the store—a tin of Altoids for $1.50. A woman and her young son were on line behind him. The boy was intrigued by Dane’s purchase and reached for the Altoids on the shelf.
“No, dear, we don’t need Altoids,” his mother said in a loud voice that mortified Dane.
“That’s what you think,” Dane said.
The little boy giggled and his mother said, “How dare you?”
“Is that all?” the cashier asked.
“Yes,” Dane stammered and bolted from the store.
If Farmer Moe’s did not work out as planned, Goldfarb’s advice about making the most of his new job was more effective.
While performing his ablutions over the course of a week, Dane asked himself, “Can I continue to wander and be at peace?” Rather than hate his predicament, Dane pondered ways to enhance his work experience by being more valuable to colleagues. He resolved not to fly into the future or drift into the past, but to wallow in the present.
This revelation could not have had better timing.
Though the copy department remained a quagmire, Dane’s quiet demeanor and Glucose Diplomacy were making friends at Mentos. One morning he delivered a cheesecake, creating a palpable buzz. When the production chief noticed Dane’s gnarled hand, she gave him her bottle of Aleve to reduce the inflammation and his fingers straightened for the first time in months.
Dane also caught the attention of Dirk Ferguson, the agency president, and Tiny Anderson, his second-in-command. Dirk, a small, neat man with coiffed, white hair, was the last man alive to wear polyester suits, but they were well tailored. Dirk had a perpetual wry smile like he had a 24/7 laugh-track in his head. Humor is often a matter of will—if you want to laugh, you will think something is funny. Not much that came out of Dirk’s mouth was droll but his wry expression, learned from The Best of Carson DVDs, made it seem that way.
“Tiny” Anderson, who managed the most important accounts at Mentos, was a lumbering giant. When Dirk and Tiny stood together they were a sight gag for bored clients. Tiny was a human triangle—large-boned, wide-hipped, with large feet and a small head. He might have thrived as a cartoon animal at children’s parties. Instead he managed a group of trade magazines which comprised a major piece of Mentos’ business. Barbara, who presumably worked under Dane, was Tiny’s writer. When she was writing for Tiny, she wrote for no one else.
Dane sensed that Tiny liked him so he tried to solve his Barbara management problem with him directly. “Barbara is your subaltern. Can you spare her sometimes so she can help me?” Dane said.
“She’s my what? Subaltern? I love it when you talk dirty,” Tiny said.
Dirk Ferguson and Tiny gave Dane a challenge—to name a medical education company.
Naming things was Dane’s favorite job. He was so enthusiastic about naming people, places and things that he mispronounced names in order to create new ones. It must have been genetic. As a boy, Dane loved the part in Genesis where Adam named the animals of Eden. While his parents fought in the next room, little Dane played Adam in Eden for many happy hours, removing his clothes and renaming the stuffed animals in his sister’s room. When his parents learned about his Biblical reenactments, they exercised Godly wrath on him for being nude around his sister and for playing with her stuffed animals. Yet, this trauma did not snuff his love of naming, which found full expression in advertising. At WIF, he named an apartment building, a health spa, and an old pencil factory-turnedcondo. Later he gave names to drugs and devices, i
ncluding Inphallus, a cutting-edge condom that gave ED patients erections by transmitting sound waves to their penises.
Dane’s alacrity for naming impressed and concerned Dirk Ferguson. He warned Dane about the assignment in his stand-up manner.
“I love your enthusiasm, Dane,” Dirk said. “Is there something wrong with you?” Pause for laughter. Tiny guffawed. “Naming a medical education firm won’t be as stimulating as Imphallus. Unfortunately.”
Dirk looked askance and paused for laughter. Tiny guffawed.
“In fact, the name for a medical education firm should be as dry as a martini but as lofty as the Mile High Club.” Dirk gave a deadpan look and paused for laughter. Tiny and Dane complied. Dirk smirked and launched the explanatory segment of his monologue. “The winning name will be a real word, relevant to the company’s image and purpose, and a compound of smaller words that describe the company. Once you come up with a name that makes us beg for more, run a computer search to be sure the name isn’t in use.”
“And one more thing,” Tiny added, “The name should be similar enough to existing companies to identify its business but fresh enough to catch the eye and intrigue the mind.”
“Is that all?” Dane asked.
“If we think of anything we’ll tell you,” Tiny said.
Dane raced back to his office, shut his door and removed his shirt to channel the spirit of Adam. Moments later he was furiously keystroking acronyms. Dane entered that meditative state where satisfying work often transported him until discussions outside his office broke his bare-chested trance. Realizing where he was, he put on his shirt. Suddenly, a dapper man he had never met burst into his office and inquired urgently if Dane was the copy supervisor. Dane said nothing while devising a plausible lie, but before he could articulate it, the stranger said, “Oh, good, I have an emergency!”
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