Good for Nothing

by Brandon Graham

  “Good,” JonJon declares. “Connor, do you have any questions for Mr. Mellis?”

  Connor gets a sly look on his face, his long neck pushing his face forward. “I was going to ask the same question,” he says. “But Amos beat me to it.” They all laugh, Flip too, though he doesn’t get the joke. “But seriously,” Connor says. “If knowledge of our products is not a requirement for doing this job well, then what qualifications do you bring? What do you offer that the next guy—”

  “Or gal,” Amos adds.

  “Or gal, doesn’t offer?”

  “Again,” Flip says, leaning forward to engage Connor better. “That is a good question. I could mention many things.” The truth is, he can only think of one, so he decides to riff on it. “I will start by sharing an important one: experience. There were times in my last position when my work, if mishandled, could have cost McCorkle-Smithe tens of millions of dollars. Or if handled strategically and with subtlety, could have prevented a financial disaster. In those particular cases, I’m happy to say, I made all the right choices.

  “I know how to work with people I like, and people that are more difficult. I know how to manage those who work for me, and whose quality of work I am responsible for, as well as understanding how to manage up, if the situation ever demands it. Because for me, it is all about what’s best for the company, and that means always keeping the client happy.” Wow. I totally pulled that out of my ass.

  He looks at the faces around to check if they seem as dazzled by him as he is with himself. They are all nodding again. Amos is holding Flip’s resume and pretending to look at it. It’s obvious he’s already checked out of the meeting. Connor’s still grinning like he wants to share another witticism. JonJon looks more thoughtful. He holds Flip’s eyes with his.

  “Flip,” he says. “As you say, you were at McCorkle-Smithe for many years. And your references raved about you. They backed up the kinds of things you have been saying here. Team player, problem solver, works well under pressure, highly recommended, and so on. I get all of that. Why did you leave? Why leave when you didn’t have anything else lined up?”

  “I’m sure you can all read between the lines. I was asked to leave as part of a broad corporate reshuffling. McCorkle-Smithe is an international construction consultant. When the economy went in the tank, here and abroad, tons of projects we’d already won simply dried up. There was stockholder pressure to cut overhead, to eliminate employees. I was well paid and nonessential. You understand Communications and Graphic Design are two of the departments that a firm like McCorkle-Smithe considers extra, even fluffy and unnecessary. I would like to argue that it was a shortsighted decision, that the company will fail because they fired many good, experienced people. But I don’t know that for sure. And honestly, I don’t wish them ill,” he lies convincingly. “In my last few years at M-S, I had grown a little bored. I was looking for a new challenge.” (This last part he manufactures on the fly, but he runs with it.) “Some people close to me knew I was shopping my resume around. I think it made the decision to let me go much easier. It’s one of the things that excite me about DynaTech. Here, I will be applying my experience in a new industry. My unfamiliarity with the product is the very thing that makes me feel enthusiastic about this company. I have the kind of nervous buzz I used to get before a football game.” Again, complete fabrication. He never played football, or watched it. Frankly, he despises team sports, only finds them valuable for the metaphors they offer. Though the idea of hot wings and beer on a Sunday does get him going. “You know what I mean?”

  Everyone nods. Though mentioning sports may have alienated Amos a bit; he nods only very slightly and seems much less engaged. In fact, Flip sees him slip his BlackBerry from his pocket and thumb the roller ball, careful to keep it below table level.

  “Well, fellas,” JonJon says to the room. “You guys get back to work while I deliver Flip to the decision maker.”

  They all shove back from the table, shake and exchange pleasantries. JonJon lets the other two leave ahead of him. Then he holds the door for Flip.

  “Thank you,” Flip says, and exits the conference cube.

  “No problem. Let’s walk and talk. I wanted to give you the chance to ask any unanswered questions. Connor and Amos are travelling to a conference in Las Vegas this afternoon. I needed to get them on their way.”

  “I understand.” They walk at a slow pace, side by side.

  After a few moments, JonJon looks over at Flip and stops walking. “So? Questions? Do you have any?”

  “Oh, right. Sorry. I was just trying to take it all in.” Flip nods his head to the large, artsy, black-and-white photos framed and hanging along the corridor. He assumes they are images of hospitals that are clients of DynaTech. JonJon acknowledges the comment by pushing his lower lip out and eyeing the images too.

  “I’m mostly interested in the corporate culture. I have a generally good impression of DynaTech,” Flip says. Though truly he has very little impression at all, except that they might supply him with work and a paycheck. “But I would like to feel I’m making a good decision for my family, and for myself.”

  “Well,” JonJon says. “I have been with the company coming up on six years. I’ve been happy here. Largely. There are some challenges, but nothing unusual: personalities, egos, and pissing contests. Typical stuff, really. Nothing to complain about.”

  “I understand,” Flip says. “Do you generally feel supported and challenged?”

  “I do. I mean some days are monotonous. But the company has been growing the entire time I’ve been here. That means the ability to move within the company both vertically and laterally.” JonJon’s hip rattles and he pulls his square phone from a holster at his side, under his jacket.

  “Excuse me,” he says without looking up and starts typing with his thumbs.

  “We should wrap it up. The boss is ready for you.”

  Flip faces back down the corridor toward what is clearly the most important office on the floor. He asks, “And do you think DynaTech makes a good product, provides good service? Do you feel like you make a difference?”

  “What? I don’t follow,” JonJon says, holstering his phone.

  “Never mind.” Now is not the time to get philosophical. He can do that in the cafeteria a few months from now, after he gets the job. Focus, he warns himself. Your head isn’t in the game. They pass an empty desk, where Flip supposes an executive secretary must reside, and come to a halt next to the decision maker’s office.

  “So here we are.” JonJon shakes Flip’s hand again. “Just knock on the door when you’re ready. Mr. Krueger is expecting you.” He flees like a rat leaving a flaming tenement. That doesn’t bode well, Flip thinks. Then he knocks.

  Clifton Krueger stands from behind his desk when Flip enters and gives a friendly wave. His shoulders are so wide, his chest so broad, he looks like a billboard wrapped in a dress shirt. His head is bald on top with a thin rim of dark hair growing long and over his ears. From across the room, he reminds Flip of Peter Boyle as the monster in Young Frankenstein, minus the squared-off head and neck bolts.

  “Hello,” Flip calls and returns the wave.

  Flip closes the door behind him and takes several long strides toward Mr. Krueger. The executive comes around his desk to meet Flip halfway. Despite his width, he carries himself well and moves fluidly. He delicately shakes Flip’s hand. Flip is relieved Mr. Krueger is an imposing figure. It allows Flip to feel that he is of a normal size, not the biggest human in the room.

  “Mr. Mellis. So glad you could make it,” he says in a warm, gentle tone. “I hope you enjoyed your time with us so far.” He’s a little taller than Flip, but trim in spite of his expansive frame.

  “Yes,” Flip says. “You have an impressive company, lots of good people. By the way, Myrna in Human Resources seemed really on top of things down there.”

  “Oh yes. Myrna is great,” he says, walking Flip toward a couch and a pair of overstuffed chairs. “Let
’s do this over here. And I can’t take credit for the company, really. I’ve only been with DynaTech a short time myself. Actually, Myrna took me through the paces when I was recruited. You need a drink of something? Coffee? My assistant is out with a sick child today. But I’d be happy to get you something.” Mr. Krueger takes a seat in the center of the couch, drapes his arms along the back, and spreads his legs wide, clearly claiming the couch as his domain.

  Flip picks the larger of the two soft leather club chairs and settles in. “No. No, thank you, Mr. Krueger. I’m fine. I had coffee before I arrived.”

  “Good. May I call you Flip?” His voice is monotone, almost hypnotic.

  “Of course.” He doesn’t ask to call Mr. Krueger by his first name.

  “So, Flip. Let me cut to the chase. We are interviewing a number of people that are equally qualified for this position. You are the last we will see. Tomorrow morning, I will meet with my people, listen to their impressions, then I will, hopefully, hire someone.”

  Flip nods.

  “What matters most to me is how a potential employee will fit at DynaTech. Group dynamics are funny. The most qualified person on paper isn’t always the one who will be most successful on the ground. There are indefinable qualities that affect this decision. To be honest, no matter how thorough the selection process, it’s always a crapshoot. You never know how someone will work out. But, in order to attempt an educated decision, I try to take a few moments to get to know people. I want you to answer a few questions for me. Be honest. Be yourself. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” Flip lies earnestly, with a confident smile. This is clearly a trap. There is no way he’s going to let down his guard and say what he really thinks. That’s not how the game is played. He’ll be diplomatic, give the appearance of being unguarded and honest. A straight shooter, Mr. Krueger has a confident, direct, and easy way about him. Flip tries to mirror it.

  “From the little I’ve seen of your company so far, I’m pleasantly surprised how comfortable I feel here,” Flip says conversationally. “But I agree with you. I know I can do the work. But, I don’t know for sure that DynaTech is the right home for me. Hopefully we can find that out together.” Restating and agreeing with Mr. Krueger’s premise is a safe, conservative way to start.

  “We are speaking the same language,” Mr. Krueger says. He sits forward and crosses his legs, lets his big hands hang loose on their wrists over the knob of his knee. “You’ve been out of work for a while now. Tell me about that.”

  Flip clears his throat to buy time. He has to turn his long-term unemployment into a positive. He needs to sell it. He gently coughs into his fist.

  “You sure you don’t need something to drink?”

  “I’m fine,” Flip says, fake-coughing again. “Just a tickle.” He composes himself, takes a calming breath, and starts. “When I lost my job, I tried to look at it as an opportunity. Luckily my wife and I had managed our money well over the years,” he lies again. “We had enough money to allow me to take my time, find the right position. I was offered a job the first month. But, it was wrong for me, for my family. So my wife, Lynn, and I agreed it was best to pass on the offer.”

  “And how much longer will that money last?” Mr. Krueger asks, not unkindly.

  “Well. Not much longer.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Krueger says, as if he’s familiar with the story. “And how has the job search been? How many places have you applied?”

  “I applied for a couple of dozen positions. Positions where I was a very good fit and qualified, and that interested me. The truth is, I was just as concerned with not taking the wrong job as I was with finding the right job, if you see what I mean.”

  “I think I understand your point, Mr. Mellis. But would you explain a little more?”

  “As I have searched for a new position, I’ve tried to ignore the mounting financial pressure. Instead, I’ve focused on finding the right job. Because this could very well be the company I retire from, the company where I share all the skill, experience, and insight I’ve accumulated over my professional life.”

  Mr. Krueger nods at this encouragingly.

  “Also, I have friends who lost white-collar jobs and took the first thing they found. Now they’re underpaid and unable to leave. I don’t want to make that mistake, not if I can help it.”

  “Yes: the perpetually underemployed. It’s an ongoing problem. It was prudent of you to be selective,” Mr. Krueger says supportively. Flip feels slightly buoyant. Mr. Krueger’s apparent sincerity and empathy foster a spark of confidence deep within Flip. Something genuine he hasn’t felt for ages. This makes Flip nervous.

  His face feels flushed and he’s winded by his monologue. His neck is beginning to itch again. His lower back is not happy with the chair; as nice as it looks, there’s no lumbar support. But he nods to Mr. Krueger again, in acceptance of the compliment.

  “The question that follows is,” Mr. Krueger seems very relaxed and speaks in a kind of mesmerizing hum-speak, “do you feel that DynaTech meets your personal requirements?”

  Flip tries to pause, to give an impression of thoughtfulness, before saying, “Yes. Absolutely. I believe I could do good work here. Also, I’m happy to hear DynaTech is still a privately held company.”

  Mr. Krueger uncrosses his legs, a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t think I follow your line of logic. Did you jump to a new subject?” He no longer sounds relaxed.

  Flip pulls at the knot of his tie, he can’t breathe. He digs at the back of his neck. “No. No I didn’t change subjects. Let me see how best to say it.” Then he doesn’t say anything. Mr. Krueger is either sitting patiently, unbothered by the lull, or he’s glaring witheringly at Flip. It’s hard to tell.

  “Mr. Krueger,” Flip says carefully, aware he’s about to articulate a business stance that could be controversial. It’s an observation he’s never spoken out loud. But he decides to risk it. The only way to leave the impression of shooting straight is to take a stand. So he says it bluntly, as he thinks Mr. Krueger might: “It would seem that making good business decisions should lead to profitability, which would lead to a higher valuation of a company’s stock. But, in fact, sometimes, bad long-term decisions can make a company more profitable in the short term and drive stock prices higher. Once a company is traded publicly, I think the pressure to show gains every quarter becomes more important than making good decisions, providing good service, or being a good employer.”

  Mr. Krueger is stone-faced, unreadable. Flip regrets heading down this path. But it’s too late now. He has to bring it home. He scoots to the edge of his seat and begins to gesture more broadly, speak a little more loudly.

  “You see, Mr. Krueger, if a company shows significant growth from good decisions, inevitably that growth slows or reaches a plateau. It’s a natural arc. But stockholders become spoiled by the high growth; they want more. They demand it. They turn the screws and apply pressure. The company looks for ways to save money. They make systemic tweaks, cut waste, and find efficiencies. All good. Quarter after quarter the pressure continues. The upshot is, the workforce is often asked to work longer hours, under greater stress, while benefits are cut and bonuses are slashed or nonexistent. Meanwhile, a few people at the top are taking large profits, based on stock prices that have continued to improve on paper. But at the expense of hollowing all of the talent out of the workforce.”

  Flip is getting wound up now, almost frantic. He thinks he’s losing Mr. Krueger. He has an urge to leap to his feet. Though he has enough self-awareness to know that would be reckless, not to mention his back might not allow it. He scoots even farther in his seat and the volume of his voice continues to rise.

  “You see, business ethics is to corporate America as religion is to the people: an opiate that helps keep the workers in-line. The executives and large investors aren’t believers. They aren’t subject to the same rules. The only rule for them is to do what’s profitable for now, whatever they think they can legally get
away with and screw all those people who have devoted their most productive years to helping make the company profitable.” Flip realizes he’s yelling. “The only concepts they understand are more and right now.”

  He slumps back in his seat, sure he just blew it, certain he said too much. But he straightens his tie, tugs his vest down, pulls his shoulders back, and holds himself as tall as he can.

  Mr. Krueger stands. “Well, I appreciate your candor in these matters. I had a few other questions, but I think you’ve been very forthright in articulating your perspective.” He walks toward his office door and opens it to let Flip out.

  Flip hustles the best he can. He feels rumpled and spent. “You understand the things I just said apply to my concerns about publicly traded companies. Not privately held companies like DynaTech,” Flip attempts to explain as he’s ushered out the door.

  “Yes. I think I understand your position,” Mr. Krueger says. “You can expect Human Resources to contact you, one way or another. I trust you can show yourself out.”

  Flip starts to turn and shake hands, to say thank you and say goodbye. Mr. Krueger’s office door closes before Flip gets a chance.

  Fuck.

  In the elevator Flip loosens his tie and unbuttons the second button of his shirt. On the first floor he strides straight through the turnstile without acknowledging Larry.