White Collar Blues

by Mel Walker

  Barry turned toward Margaret for clarification.

  Margaret directed her response toward Barry, "what Mr. Grant is referring to is an exit package but a special type. He is nine months from his thirty year anniversary. His question is will General Modifications allow him to work out an exit which delivers him his thirty years of service."

  "Buy up?" Barry asked for further clarification.

  Margaret nodded.

  "Whatever time he is short he would buy up, for example, zero pay and or credit for time served to get to thirty." Margaret completed her review of the topic, her eyes narrowing, lifeless and as cold as a meat locker, "no Mr. Grant. General Modifications will not be using buy up as an option for this acquisition."

  "Even if we are less than a month away from vesting?"

  "Even if it is only a single day Mr. Grant. These decisions have been made by executive leadership. We in HR are only here to monitor compliance."

  Justin took another deep breath. He hadn't been fired, at least not just yet. The entire posting process at first felt like a slap to the gut, but after additional analysis, Justin realized that it was more like a slap to the face.

  He ignored Barry and Margaret for the remainder of the meeting. He nodded occasionally, but nothing really penetrated. Nothing else really mattered. His position was gone, and he was hanging on by a thread. A silly carrot waving at him in the distance. They had changed the rules, and he didn’t understand the game at all.

  As he stood to leave Justin realized he didn't have to like how things had turned out but more importantly he only had two weeks to figure it all out.

  * * *

  The trance from the body blow of the meeting stayed with Justin the entire day. Locked behind closed doors, his concern veered from the strategic options available to him to finally the well-being of his fellow colleagues. As he continued to stew in his office, Justin felt something in his veins which he hadn't felt in the office for quite some time - Anger.

  He pushed back from the desk and punched in a series of numbers on his phone. "Conference room, Now." He didn’t wait for a response, as he slammed down the phone. As he stepped out of his office after three hours of licking his wounds, he was confronted by an unexpected scene. The hallways were buzzing. Small groups were huddled in clusters across the floor, whispers seized as he approached. At the end of the corridor, one of the administrative assistants was in tears, her hands clutching a photo which she slowly placed into a half-filled cardboard box. Justin overheard part of her phone conversations, "... yes, dear, I’m headed home. I'm done here, effective immediately. .... I don't know why .... can we finish this up when you get home tonight?"

  As he turned the corner and headed toward the conference room, he nearly slammed into two of the most massive security guards he had ever seen. The first one stood almost six three with the shoulders of a linebacker, easily two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle. The wall of a man extended his hands across the aisle, "Excuse sir, you can't come this way, please go around the other way,"

  Justin attempted to peek over his broad shoulders into the office where he could see another equally as large security guard standing over a colleague on his knees on the floor. d. Papers were strewn across the office doorway, out into the hallway, a broken laptop on the floor next to an overturned file cabinet. The man’s back was to the door as he sat on the edge of his desk, "Seventeen years, I’ve given this company seventeen years, and this is how they treat you." The words sent a shockwave through Justin's system.

  He turned and pushed through the growing crowd and turned as he took an alternative path to the conference room. Ignoring similar scenes of careers exploding around him Justin moved quickly and kept his eyes on the ground. By the time he reached the conference room, he had no clue what would come out of his mouth.

  He flung the door open, not aware of the pent-up anger, the door banged against the door stop as the small group turned. They were all standing. "It's a fucking bloodbath out there." Marcus summarized before Justin could say a word.

  Krystal approached him gently, "your door was shut....." she began tentatively, ".... are you ...."

  "Yes," Justin responded without thinking. As he noticed a tear forming in her eye he connected the question, "I mean I’m still here for now, but yes I am pissed. What a cluster fuck."

  The room went silent. The team was immune to four letter words from Paul and Marcus but rarely heard one dropped by Justin, not in this context. They slowly began to sit around the table. Chris was the first to speak.

  "I've already talked to Rosie.” Rosie was his wife. “They gave me three weeks."

  "I'm so sorry Chris," it was Krystal once again, "I didn't know."

  "I’m still digesting it myself. Are you ok?"

  "I'm being reassigned to some new team; they didn't even give me a name. Told me to hold tight and someone will contact me in a week." Krystal avoided Chris' eyes, survivor guilt apparent on her face.

  "And you guys made fun of me when I collected those recruiter cards in the parking lot yesterday." It was Violet. "I tried to warn you that the gravy train here wouldn't last forever." She reached into her blazer pocket and began to lay out the cards on the conference table. "I suggest you act quickly because after yesterday and this morning the recruiters are going to be flooded."

  It was the most unlikely of voices which spoke next, "V? Put them away, too soon." It was Marcus. Everyone turned their attention toward him.

  "Who are you and what did you do with Marcus?" Krystal tried to install some levity.

  "What happened in your review?" it was Justin probing.

  Marcus shifted in the chair as his eyes searched for the safety of the table top, "it was weird. Met with a Barry something or other..."

  "Barry Boyton?" Justin said with a little too much interest. "He's in Quality engineering. Why did he meet with you?"

  Marcus avoided Justin's eyes, "said I had been slotted for a position in his new organization. It would be a promotion of some sort."

  "What position Marcus?" Justin's probe continued.

  Marcus shifted once again, "I don't have the details...."

  Justin could tell he was keeping something from him, "Marcus what position? Just have at it ...."

  Marcus opened his mouth, "... it’s for ...."

  The conference room door burst open, interrupting the team, all eyes turned to a clearly exasperated Paul, "who here knows a good labor lawyer?"

  Violet reached back into her blazer, "Corporate?" she said as she slid two business cards in his direction.

  "Really Violet you walk around with these like tissues?" Chris questioned.

  Paul stepped toward the table and began to read the business cards.

  "I kind of knew it was going to be that sort of day." She directed the comment toward Chris.

  "You ok?" Paul asked.

  "Yeah, for now. Only three years under my belt here, I’m not on anyone's target list this wave. They have bigger fish to fry." Her eyes sized up Paul, "no pun intended."

  "None taken, I like fish fry." Paul remained standing. "I got an email from Maria about an hour ago."

  This statement got the entire group's attention. Maria was out on vacation.

  "And?" Krystal added.

  "Follow me...." Paul led the group out of the conference room down the corridor as they made their way toward Maria's near corner office. "I have her spare key because she constantly locks herself out." he began as the group assembled near the door. "She emailed me; she received a cryptic email from the executive leadership team followed by two voicemails on her home phone. She asked me to take a look at her office for her, and ...." Paul stepped to the side as he pushed open the door. The team took a collective breath and stepped into the room.

  At the center of the room sat the now spotless desk. Against one wall were a series of boxes, three boxes to a column, and four columns. A printed label had been placed on each carton, "Maria Garber - personal effects - ship to home ad
dress - five-day ground." Across the room against the other wall stood a similar set of boxes these marked with a rubber stamped Property of General Modifications - work product label.

  "These guys are good," Violet finally broke the silence. "I've been through now four of these, and I’ve never seen such a coordinated decimation of a workforce. They must've been planning this for some time."

  "Yeah, imagine if they took that much effort in actually running the company efficiently, we wouldn't be in this mess, to begin with," Chris added. "What am I saying? Why the fuck do I care, I’m out. At least Maria got her stuff packed for her."

  Chris avoided the stares of the group as he turned and exited the room. Violet followed.

  "Someone's got to pay for this; this isn't how you treat your people," Paul said as he turned and followed a nearly in tears Krystal.

  Justin stepped toward the empty desk. Marcus stood behind him. The silence bounced off the picture-less walls.

  "I didn't want to say anything in front of the group Justin. I wanted to bring you up to speed alone."

  "Of course. Don't mind us, temperatures are all running high." Justin found it difficult to feel. The sight of Maria's entire work life boxed up like a disgruntled lover tossing out a crappy record collection after a break up removed all his anger as the next stage of sadness and resignation were beginning to set in. "Congrats Marcus, I know this is something you have been working hard for some time. Go for it. At least someone from our group will benefit from this mess."

  Marcus stepped around the desk to face Justin. "I've not decided anything at this point. I’m just exploring all my options. I would like your support, it does mean a lot to me after all we've been through."

  Justin reached his hand across the table, the friends shook tentatively, "you know you have it. What we have supersedes this organization, Marcus. What we all have is stronger than one company. We've broken bread at each other's dinner tables; have celebrated life's victories along the way. Not even General Modifications can take that from us."

  A genuine smile formed on the face of Marcus. "Thanks." Marcus directed Justin toward the door, "So, Barry and I hit it off right away. No surprise, because I am who I am. If you want I can put in a good word for you."

  Justin laughed, the jokester Marcus had returned, "... too soon Marcus, way too soon."

  Chapter Eight

  The brown sugar and ginger carrots steamed up glass lid as Leslie lifted it and stirred with one hand and glanced at her iPad in the other. She hummed a Mariah Carey tune as she reread the recipe again. She turned down the flame and placed the cover over leaving a slight opening for the steam to continue to vent.

  Leslie turned away from the stove and glided toward the dining room. She stood in the doorway admiring her handy work. The table had been set with the good china, fresh flowers and lit candles sat at the center of the table. The timer in the oven rang as she turned yet again and noted the time, Justin should have walked through the door five minutes ago. His favorite cut of steak resting on the carving board and toasted garlic bread had just been completed in the oven. Steamed spinach completed the meal.

  Laid out across the bed upstairs was her little black dress. The one with the spaghetti straps which Justin called not fit for public consumption. The length so short that she couldn’t bend over or slide out of a low sitting vehicle without flashing the world. It was the sexiest dress in her wardrobe, one which she enjoyed wearing but rarely had the opportunity. The dress allowing others to see her for what she normally kept hidden away, a still young, vibrant, sexy, desirable woman. Tonight would be the night as she already pictured Justin drooling across the dining room table. The dress and, the dinner, all leading to a night in which they’d never make it to the final course.

  The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. A warm tingle raced through her body as she stole another glance at her watch.

  Justin's favorite meal had been prepared on a hunch. Being married for more than half one’s life, she could sense when something was bothering him, and felt terrible that she went out to the Chamber meeting the night before. Early in their marriage, they would continuously bounce ideas off each other. As the years went by, however, the need to discuss challenges had slowed. It had happened so gradually that neither noticed. Leslie couldn’t recall the last time Justin had asked for her opinion on a work-related matter, it had become a domain he excelled, one he had total control. If he needed her advice, it had to be serious.

  After her meeting with Peter this morning her sense of regret grew as she realized afterward that it had been him on the call which she didn't answer. She had called the office twice in the afternoon without connecting and or receiving a return call.

  That's when she decided upon the home-cooked meal.

  It had been ten weeks since Jake had left for school. After the initial shock of an empty house, they had both pledged to get back to the way things were before Jake: Movie nights, date nights, and quiet time at home together. However, life has a way of getting in the way. She didn’t regret jumping into the Chamber of Commerce activities, but she had underestimated the amount of time and energy involved. The majority of the Chamber events were geared toward business owners, the bulk of the meetings took place early morning and in the evenings, outside of the working hours of a business. Since Jake left for school, the couple had yet to have a movie night, date night or a quiet dinner at home together.

  Tonight would be different.

  There weren't any Chamber activities tonight, and Justin didn't have anything on his calendar.

  Where is he?

  As she stood in the doorway, the streaming music from her docked iPhone was interrupted by the arrival of a text message. She retrieved the phone.

  Rough day in the office. The gang is stopping at O'Flannery to wind down. Will be in late; enjoy your Chamber event this evening.

  She stood holding the phone reading and rereading the message. Justin had gotten the days mixed up; she didn't have a Chamber event tonight. She could sense his frustration with the text. Pondering the next steps, she glanced up at the table. All the work she put in. She turned off the stove and covered the carrots as she reached for the phone - I’ll just tell him to come home.

  As she raised the phone, it rang. The callout displayed Peter's name. She hesitated.

  It rang a second and third time.

  She relented.

  "Good evening."

  "I need you," came the urgent voice of Peter Robins.

  "Excuse?"

  "I mean, ... oh shit ..., I’m sorry Leslie, I need to see you right away. It's important."

  "Peter, slow down. What's going on?"

  She heard him take a deep breath. "Listen I don't have time to explain. I'm calling from the men's room at Stark's restaurant; you know where it is right?"

  Leslie tried to process the words and found herself nodding.

  "Do you?" he asked again.

  "The restaurant yes, the men’s room not so much." Based on the panic in his voice, she doubted he’d get her weak attempt at humor.

  "Get down here as quick as you can."

  "Peter I'm expecting Justin any minute, we are about to have dinner together," she fibbed.

  "Bring him along if you wish. This is all your fault anyway."

  "You're not making any sense."

  "I can't explain, but remember that conversation over at Max’s?"

  She thought back to meeting with Max, who was thrilled with the idea of sending coffee and snacks across the street for My Workplace. During a tour, Max became fascinated by the convertible tables but was really intrigued by the sample custom frame that Leslie had left hanging on the wall. Max had fought against putting TVs in the diner for years. She had always considered them tacky. Her customers, especially those that came in late, continually asked about a TV for sports or another popular event. Once Max saw Leslie’s frames, she knew she had discovered a solution. She could display artwork most of the time,
convert to televised events on the screens when necessary, and never have a tacky TV on her wall. She ordered two frames on the spot.

  “Which part of it?” Leslie asked, not sure where Peter was going with this.

  “Max apparently was raving about us at some networking event and the next thing I know I have a dinner meeting with the regional coordinator for a string of cafes'. This company is scouting out local cafes to purchase and convert. They picked Max’s brain, and she told them about what she is looking to do at the diner with our furniture, frames, and technology.

  She passed along my contact info, and they reached out. I thought it was just a meet and greet but these guys are serious. They are moving quickly, and they are talking contract. Do you hear me, contracts."

  "Congrats Pete but I still don't see why you need me."

  "Because they aren’t interested in coffee Leslie, don’t you get it? When someone invites you to coffee, it is almost never about coffee.” He was speaking a mile a minute. “They are interested in our full package.”

  “Our?”

  “Yes, like I told you we are partners. They are not only interested in setting up a section of the café as a slimmed down version of MyWorkplace. Obviously, they wouldn’t call it that, but they interested in the convertible desks.”

  “Peter, you must slow down.” Leslie shifted her weight as she glanced around the kitchen. “That’s nice that you want to include me, but this is yours to run with. You don’t need me.”

  “You’re not getting it. They are looking at rebranding, new store designs, new furniture and all custom fixtures, including picture frames.” Peter took a pause as he took a deep audible breath on the phone. “They are talking of starting with a pilot at ten locations. And if all goes well, expanding from there.

  If this works, your frames business will explode."

  Leslie couldn't believe her ears.

  She spun taking in the inventory of the stove confirming that everything was off. "I'm on my way." She blew out the candle on the table and raced up the steps two at a time.