by Jim D. Scott
CHAPTER FOUR
Friday, November 19, 2011
Paula Dundas sat at her desk watching as each member of her team accepted the meeting appointments she had just sent out. She felt sick to her stomach. She was relieved that she wouldn’t have to deliver the message herself, but felt all the dirtier for the subterfuge she was required to engage in. Her instructions were direct, meticulous and contradictory. She invited each member of her team to a “status” meeting. To avoid suspicion, she invited each of them individually to the same room. When the last acceptance came in, she undocked her laptop and slunk off to a remote conference room a floor below so no one could ask questions before the meeting.
A half hour passed as she absently managed her email. She had thirty more minutes to wait when a meeting request popped up. Her boss’s boss, Bob Lasso, wanted to check in with her before the status meetings started. Paula accepted the appointment which was supposed to be starting already. Still, she stopped in a bathroom on the way to the executive offices three floors up to make sure she was presentable.
Paula hadn’t been to the eighteenth floor since before the last executive refresh, which redecorated the space in a faux-1950s theme that bordered on black and white. In truth, the entire floor was already imbued with an ambiguously amoral gray. There was little color but enormous contrast. The maple wainscoting was burnished with a bright finish over an ebony stain. The carpet was predominantly Davy’s gray, with speckles of gunmetal throughout. The pile was thick and luxuriously soft. It absorbed all sound from Paula’s pumps as she hurried along the corridor wanting more than anything to walk barefoot and feel the tufts between her toes.
She found Lasso’s office, but the door was closed. His administrative assistant was not at his desk, which Lasso noticed was much nicer than hers. It was a sturdy oak with the assistant’s name burned into the surface in an elegant script. Paula’s work surface — she never confused it with a desk — was made of leftover material that hadn’t been kitschy enough for a 1970s counter top. She kept it covered in calendars to prevent migraines.
Paula knocked on Lasso’s door and took a respectful step back. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now ten minutes since her meeting was supposed to start. The anxiety of the morning made her less patient that she normally would be. She looked through the glass window and could see Lasso talking. She couldn’t see his guest. Setting her back straight, she walked back to the door, rapped firmly and opened it a crack.
Lasso turned imperceptibly and assayed Paula from the corner of his eye. He glanced to his watch, back to Paula, to his watch, and to Paula one more time before a spark of recognition lit across his face. He stood serenely and smiled at Paula. She opened the door and stepped inside his office.
She didn’t notice the artwork, which was breathtaking in scope and lack of execution. Other than the exterior and interior windows, the entire office was a mural depicting the Battle of Hastings. The style was heavily influenced by tapestries of the time. The figures were flat and simple, but also horrifyingly disproportionate. The faces lacked meaningful detail, but for the fact that everyone was smiling the same thin, simple smile, as if an emoji stamp had been the original model. Even the defeated soldiers, limblessly floating in puddles of their own blood, were meeting their gods with good cheer.
Paula didn’t notice this because Lasso’s assistant was sobbing into his hands. Daniel Fletcher had taken the job out of desperation to address his crushing student loan debt, then had been stunned to discover that not only was he good at the job, but he enjoyed it. The pace, the responsibility and the interactions were all surprisingly gratifying. To be told that his job was being eliminated but six months after he took it was an affront to his sense of purpose.
Daniel stood up, took a deep breath and left the room.
Lasso shrugged in a “well, that went poorly” kind of way. He gestured for Paula to take the newly vacated chair. Paula sat. She grimaced at the pile of damp tissues on the table in front of her. Lasso noticed them as he sat opposite her. He looked at the door, ready to call Daniel in to tidy up. Thinking better of that at the last moment, he took a piece of letterhead where he’d been composing a shopping list for Daniel to execute and used it to brush the tissues onto an interoffice memo which just happened to be close at hand. He used the letterhead to sweep the tissues onto the memo and dropped everything in the garbage.
“Paula, right?” he began.
Paula nodded.
“I have some very difficult news to share with you,” Lasso said. He looked around, suddenly at a loss.
“I think you just threw it away,” Paula said.
“Yes, thank you!” Lasso said. He walked over to his garbage. He glanced into the bin, then sat at his computer. “I’ll just print out a new copy,” he announced to himself. He continued talking to himself as he tried to find the file on his computer. He was pretty sure he had a copy in his documents folder, but sometimes he saved those things to his desktop. Or maybe the email was still there, but he couldn’t remember who had sent it. He was getting frustrated when his phone rang.
And rang. Daniel wasn’t picking up.
Annoyed, Lasso grabbed the phone. He didn’t recognize the internal extension.
“Yes?” he demanded before listening a bit. He hung up. “Paula, right?” he asked.
Paula nodded twice this time.
“One of your staff isn’t in his meeting room,” he said.
“Kramer?” Paula guessed.
“No,” Lasso said. “Harold Jackson.”
“I don’t have a Harold Jackson on my team,” Paula said.
“Well, he’s not in the meeting,” Lasso replied.
“I understand,” Paula said.
“He needs to be in the meeting,” Lasso continued.
“I don’t know who that is,” Paula said.
“Figure this out for me?” Lasso asked. “I’ve got a hell of a day.”
Paula stood to go. “Was there more you needed to tell me?” she asked.
“Yes,” Lasso said, focusing on his computer again. “Just come back when this is done and I’ll finish you up.”
Paula found the meeting room on the sixteenth floor where most of her team was sitting. Kramer, in fact, was not there. She walked to the facilitator at the front of the room who was checking her timeline on her phone.
“What’s going on?” Paula asked.
The facilitator looked up from her phone. Her hazel eyes matched her sweater set perfectly. She was a contractor whom Paula had never seen before. Her badge indicated she worked for a temporary services company, but didn’t give her name. The facilitator didn’t speak, she just slid the printed roster toward Paula, who scanned it. There were seventeen names on the list: sixteen of the names had a mark next to them.
Harold Jackson’s name did not have a check next to it.
“Is Harold Jackson here?” Paula asked.
“Yes,” a man’s deep voice spoke up. Paula looked over and recognized the face. He was on one of the walking teams, often doing laps inside the building. He walked by her desk two or three times a day, though Paula hadn’t known his name before that moment.
“Thanks,” Paula said and returned to the list. Kramer’s name immediately followed Jackson’s and had a check next to it. She scanned the room again, carefully avoiding eye contact with her team members who were all sitting together in a bunch at the back. Kramer was not with them, though Dee had saved him a chair.
Paula felt for her phone, but she didn’t have it with her. She stood over the facilitator who leaned slightly out of the way so Paula could reach the speaker phone. Paula dialed Kramer’s extension on the speaker phone on the table.
“Yello,” Kramer said after the second ring.
Paula kept her focus on the gray phone. It reminded her of a science fiction prop from a 1970s film. It was curiously rounded, both sleek and bulbous. It’s form hinted that it had some special function, which it probably did. The phone was ab
solute crap for making calls.
“You’re late, Kramer. You’re supposed to be in 1640.”
“Huh,” Kramer said as he clicked at his computer. “I see that I am. Sorry about that, I was so caught up in my work I missed the reminder.”
“Just get here,” Paula directed.
“You’re not going to fire me, are you?” Kramer said. He stood and looked around. He took the ear bud out of his right ear and noticed that the rest of the team wasn’t at their desks. “Where’d everybody go?”
“They are all waiting for you,” Paula said.
“Sure thing. On my way,” Kramer said.
Paula hung up.
A few moments later, Paula finally looked over at her team. Winnie looked back at her hopefully, perhaps imagining that there was something Paula could yet do to save them. Archer was trying his best to look bored, but failing. He kept licking his lips nervously. He whispered something to Dee, accidentally spitting a bit in her ear. She shook her head. Paula tried to smile a sad smile, but her face wouldn’t cooperate. She grimaced ironically.
In the minutes it took Kramer to show up, Paula was disappointed that she didn’t feel sadder. She had barely slept Thursday night and was heavily caffeinated to get through the day. She felt tired and disappointed, but the righteous anger or collegial sadness she expected was as absent as Kramer. She was doing her job and feeling nothing about it.
Kramer finally walked in. The facilitator stood up and began speaking even before the door was closed.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Donna Martin. I’m here to share some difficult news with you,” she turned to her notes and began to read the message verbatim in a flat, dull voice. “In order to protect the future of Fast Airborne Venn Diaphragms, difficult decisions have to be made about the course of our expenses. The actions we are taking today, while difficult, will ensure that Fast Airborne Venn Diaphragms returns to profitability and growth.”
Paula decided to sneak out and head back to the eighteenth floor for her message. By nature, she didn’t expect the worst. She ran through the interaction with Lasso again: was he giving her this message, or something different? Maybe she was being moved to another office or given a new role. A demotion? Nothing at this point made much sense.
Paula stopped at the door and returned her attention to Martin’s monologue.
“Right now, some of your colleagues are being informed that their positions are being closed. We value their contributions and thank them for everything they’ve done for our business. If you are in this room, you are not affected by these actions.”
Paula hurried to the front of the room and grabbed Martin roughly by the arm. “You’re reading the wrong one,” she hissed.
“This is the only one I have,” Martin dismissed Paula as dull with a quick look. She returned to her script. “We ask that you show respect for colleagues who are receiving difficult news today. We want you to know that appropriate support will be offered to anyone affected by these actions, including a 60-day license for high-quality, résumé friendly fonts.”
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Paula demanded. She grabbed the paper away from Martin, who fell back into her chair as if Paula had slugged her. Paula turned to the people in the room. “This is not the right message,” she said.
Martin shrugged and turned to her phone. Paula considered her options. “I’ll be back,” she said as she hurried to the door. She paused again at the doorway. “Wait here,” the tremor in her voice surprised her. She swallowed the tremor and risked the one thing they had specifically instructed her not to say. She looked to her team, her friends, the people she had never expected to care about. “I’m sorry,” she said before hurrying on her way.
Paula trotted along the hall, peeking into conference rooms as she passed, looking for a room with the right message. Starting from room number 1640, she moved through the 1630s and the 1620s before encountering another team lead, Simba Delgato, hurrying in the other direction.
Both stopped and approached each other cautiously. All of the information on the job actions had been apportioned so arbitrarily that no one knew what they were supposed to know, let alone what anyone else actually did know. This was intended to prevent gossip and control the message. It didn’t work; the team leads avoided gossip out of respect for the people they worked with, while senior executives idly chatted about it in grade school code on elevators and speaker phones. The extra layer of control was unnecessary and ineffective, and therefore sacrosanct.
Paula led with a vague statement that was nevertheless clearly urgent. “I have a room with the wrong message.”
“How many?” Simba asked.
“About twenty. Three teams,” Paula said.
Simba rotated his hand back and forth between thumbs up and thumbs down. “They are getting,” Paula showed a thumbs up, “when they should be getting,” she finished with a thumbs down.
Simba nodded. “My room is the opposite. Thank god I was there. I wasn’t supposed to be,” he confided.
“Me, too,” Paula agreed. Simba was smiling broadly, clearly relieved. He held out his memo. Paula took his memo in exchange for hers. She scanned through it quickly. It was the right message.
“Thanks!” Simba enthused. “You’re a life saver!” He headed back toward room 1604 in a heroic trot.
Paul took a breath and turned. She walked resolutely back to 1640.
Martin waited at the front of the room for Paula to walk over to her and hand over the memo. She began reading it. Her tone was still flat, though now clearly annoyed as she rushed through the bits she’d read once before.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Donna Martin. I’m (still) here to share some difficult news with you. To protect the future of Fast Airborne Venn Diaphragms, decisions have to be made about our expenses. The actions we are taking today will ensure that Fast Airborne Venn Diaphragms returns to profitability and growth.”
Paula walked quietly toward the exit. Dee stood to stop her as she passed.
“Today, we are giving you notice that your jobs will be eliminated in five weeks. Those who satisfactorily complete their job duties over the next five weeks will be eligible for severance pay equal to ten days for every fifteen months of continuous service.”
Dee hugged Paula. She whispered “thanks” and let her go. Dee returned to sitting. Kramer shook Paula’s hand as she passed. Martin continued to read as Paula left the room.
“In addition, you will be eligible to purchase individual health coverage through the employer plan for a period of 90 days following your last day of employment. Right now, your colleagues are being informed that some positions are being closed. We are not sharing information on the teams or individuals who are infected.
“Excuse me. We are not sharing information on the teams or individuals who are affected. You are encouraged to take a long lunch if you feel it will help you process this difficult news. If you do so, report your time with activity code XR17. XR17 will be unpaid, but will count toward years of service when calculating any severance.”
Paula barely had a chance to think of her own precarious position before the elevator discharged her on the eighteenth floor. The messages in most groups had already been shared. Clusters of sad-looking people were meeting all over the building, but other than a few empty desks, it was business as usual on the eighteenth floor.
Paula reached Lasso’s door without making eye contact with anyone. She knocked. “Come,” Lasso barked from the other side.
Paula entered the room. Lasso was sitting behind his desk. Paula took a seat opposite him and waited quietly. Lasso finished typing something into his computer then looked over at her. “Would you mind shutting the door?”
Paula rose to shut the door. “Thanks, angel,” Lasso said as she retook her seat.
Lasso rolled his chair over to his printer and grabbed a couple of pages from the output tray. He looked at them for a long time, then rolled back to his desk to get his glasses. He looked back
at the pages. After a long minute he said, “That’s not what I needed. I printed that yesterday.”
Lasso went to his keyboard and clacked away. Paula folded her hands in her lap and focused on sitting up straight.
“Printer is fucked,” Lasso said.
“Oh?” Paula asked.
“Whatever, I guess,” Lasso said. He ran his hands over his long, slightly greasy gray hair. He reached deep into the front pocket of his boot cut jeans and tied his hair back into the tiniest pony tail imaginable. It was no more than an inch long and he had to twist the hair tie four times to get it to stay.
Lasso stared at his monitor. “I’m going to share some difficult news with you,” he paraphrased. “In order to protect, blah blah, difficult decisions have been made about our expenses. As you may know, salaries make up the vast majority of our ongoing expenses.”
Lasso paused here to look over his glasses at Paula. She gazed out the window. Lasso returned to his screen and lost his place when he scrolled the document.
“Uh. Difficult decisions, salaries are our biggest expenses. The actions we are taking today, while difficult, will ensure that Fast Airborne VD returns to difficulty and growth.
“Oops. Profitability and growth.
“Earlier today, some of your colleagues were informed that their positions would be closed. We value their contributions and thank them for everything they’ve blah blah. If you were affected by those actions, you would already have been informed.
“At the same time, we are starting a new stretch program for front line leaders to expand their authority to rationalize and flatten our organization. You have been selected to not continue as a leader in our new organization. We thank you for your contributions and are giving you notice that your role will be eliminated effective today.”
Lasso pawed through folders on his desk. Finding one with Paula’s name on it, he handed it to her.
“That’s it?” Paula asked.
“There’s more in the folder. Take your time reading it, but to qualify for severance you have to sign the release before you leave today. Security will escort you to the front door at 1:00 p.m. Be a dear and grab the door on your way out, will you?”
