by Angela Terry
Need a wicked brew? Step into The Cauldron.
Still in need of my morning caffeine (and a cure for this emotional hangover), I could use a wicked brew.
As soon as I open the door, I appreciate the welcoming vibe. The décor is simultaneously cozy and industrial with exposed brick walls and a fireplace on one side. Everything is very Restoration Hardware—dark wood tables and metal chairs are mixed in with comfy, worn leather sofas and chairs tucked into corners and lots of vintage-looking lighting. By the counter, there is a glass display filled with pastries, sandwiches, and salads. A guy who looks around my age stands behind the register.
“Good morning. How are you?” he says.
Good manners force me to lie. “Fine, thank you. You?”
“Great! I woke up this morning, the sun was shining, and I’m alive. What can be better than that?”
I smile and nod politely at his new-agey comment. Between that and his surfer-like, naturally blond hair and light blue eyes, I decide he must be a transplant from California.
“So what can I get you this morning?” he asks.
“I’ll have a large latte with almond milk and a banana, please.”
I grab a banana from the basket on the counter while he rings me up. My gaze wanders over to the pastry case, but I seem to have lost my appetite along with everything else. And, anyway, I have rules about this. Six days a week, I eat ultra-healthy. Then on the weekend, I’m allowed one meal of whatever I want. I never break my rules, not even for a breakup or job loss. If I start breaking the rules now, I can’t imagine what new chaos will erupt in my already disastrous life. Best to stick to the program.
While I wait for my latte, I walk around the place, idly looking at the various books and magazines on display. Seems like a great place to hang out in peace. Unfortunately, that’s not something I have the luxury of doing today—I have a wedding to cancel and a job to find (and more tears to shed).
“Excuse me, miss? Here’s your latte.” The guy from the cash register sets down a paper cup on the table where I’m sitting.
I jump a little at the sound of his voice. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice I’d sat down. Composing myself, I smile up at him. “Thank you.”
“I meant to call your name, but I forgot to ask.”
“No worries. It’s Allison.” I wrap my hand around the warm cup and stand.
“Thanks for coming in, Allison. I’m Eric. Hope to see you again.”
He has a kind smile. Exactly the type of smile I need today. “This is a cute place. I’ll definitely be back.”
“And, here, take this too.” Eric hands me a small bag. “It’s on the house.”
“Oh! Um, thanks. What is it?”
“A lemon blueberry scone. It’s my mother’s recipe.”
“Wow, thank you. That’s really nice of you. I look forward to trying it.”
He breaks into a grin, and then I really must go because I’m not sure how much kindness I can handle in my fragile state without melting down in public again.
I walk into Adobo Grill as ready as I’ll ever be for my birthday dinner—meaning I dropped some Visine into my eyes and took care to wear waterproof mascara. I spy Jordan by the bar and take a deep breath. While I haven’t told her all my news, I’m wondering if she’s already heard from either Stacey or Kate.
When Jordan sees me, she starts waving wildly. “Woo-hoo, Allison! Hey, birthday girl!”
She stands and I notice that she’s holding a ridiculously large, garish balloon with a monkey saying something about going bananas because it’s your birthday. I swallow and make my way over with a smile plastered on my face and a fake-it-till-you-make-it attitude.
“Jordan!” I give her a warm hug and then point to the balloon with a small laugh. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Ha, ha! Well, how else is everyone going to know it’s your birthday?” She looks over my shoulder. “Where’s Neil? I thought he was joining us for a pre-dinner drink?”
“Um, he can’t make it tonight.”
“Oh, no! Is he sick?”
“Yeah, he’s not feeling too great,” I say, trying to keep both myself and my voice calm.
At least I hope that’s the case, though I suspect I’m the only one not feeling too great, since Neil now has Stacey to comfort him.
“Huh? There must be something going around because Kate called me, and she’s under the weather too. So I guess it’s just you, me, and Stacey tonight.”
“Yeah. …” I drawl out, still trying to control my emotions. “I don’t think Stacey is going to make it either.”
“You’re kidding? Did she call you?”
“Not exactly.” My stomach knots and feeling a lump begin to form in my throat, I wave my hand toward the hostess stand. “Let’s just get a table because I need a drink.”
Narrowing her eyes, Jordan regards me strangely for a second before saying, “Okay, let’s do that,” in a placating tone.
Once we’re seated, with tequila drinks in hand and a hearty serving of guacamole made tableside, Jordan holds up her glass. “To your annual celebration of turning twenty-nine!”
“Cheers to that.” I raise my glass, wishing I could turn the clock back six years and warn my younger self to avoid the mistake called Neil.
After our first sips, Jordan sets down her drink, crosses her arms on the table, and looks me in the eye. “Okay. What’s going on?”
I raise my eyebrows at her as I take a second and then third sip of my margarita before putting it down.
“Yesterday I was fired and then I came home and Neil broke off our engagement.” I pause and inhale. And then—“He’s in love with somebody else.”
“Noooo. …” With her eyes wide, Jordan stares at me but doesn’t say anything else for what feels like forever. She’s actually speechless. A rarity. Once she digests the information, she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I’m so sorry, babe. How are you doing?”
“Um, shell-shocked? One minute I’ll be crying, and then the next I’m completely numb.” I’m not sure how to describe the surreality of my heartbreak. “Maybe I’m in the first stage of grief, meaning denial? Most of Neil’s stuff is in the condo, so when I woke up this morning it looked like nothing happened. Like he’s just on some golf weekend or business trip. And since it’s Saturday, I didn’t have to get ready for work … for a job that I no longer have, anyway. The only unusual thing about my day is that I started putting my resume together.” I shake my head numbly.
“I can’t believe it. That bastard,” Jordan hisses and then squeezes my hand again. “Do you know who she is?”
I look down at my drink and give a small nod.
“Who?”
Without looking at her, I shake my head, not ready to talk about Stacey. “I’ll tell you after the next margarita.”
She lets go of my hand and picks up her drink. “And, oh my god, your job! What happened?”
“Where do I begin?”
I’m glad it’s just Jordan here tonight. Obviously, I can no longer talk to Stacey, though I do have words for her. And in hindsight, the way Kate had been lurking around the office the last few weeks (and her absence tonight) makes me wonder if she knew what was coming.
Like Mindy Kaling, I believe “best friend” describes a friendship tier rather than a one and only; and Jordan, Stacey, and Kate all made the tier during different stages of my life. Jordan was my college roommate at DePaul University and stayed that way until we moved in with our respective boyfriends after graduation. With her long brown curly hair, freckles, smiling green eyes, and infectious laugh and energy, I knew right away she would be a best friend for life. I became friends with Stacey when I was twenty-two and first started working at PR Worldwide, where she left after a couple years to go onto “bigger and better” things, which all turned out to be the same job at various other PR firms, moving on but not up. Right after Stacey left, Kate started working at PR Worldwide, and I took on the ro
le of her unofficial mentor, and, over the years, our loyal work relationship turned into a personal friendship.
They were a diverse trio. Jordan never really clicked with Stacey or Kate, but she was friendly with them because they were my friends. Stacey and Kate clicked immediately on a professional—if not personal—level since we all had the same job in common. While Stacey and I were regularly asked if we were sisters, short dark-haired Kate was my polar opposite in looks and outlook—my optimism versus what she called “happy pessimism.”
All three women were set to be my bridesmaids. While Stacey has probably figured out she’s fired from the job, I now need to tell Kate. Though I suspect she’ll probably be relieved. When I had asked her to be in the wedding party, she said, “Yes,” but her eyes clearly said no. Behind them I could tell she was already mentally prepping herself for weekends filled with too much cheerful girliness capped off with donning a hideous bridesmaid dress—“Just promise me no bubble hems. And don’t make me tie ribbons on things, or any of that shit.” Kate may be loyal, but she also has boundaries.
“Start wherever you want,” says Jordan. “And I can’t believe Stacey and Kate aren’t here for this. I assume Kate already knows about work, but do they know about the wedding?”
“Actually, I can believe they’re not here,” I say with an uncharacteristic edge in my voice, which I’m allowed under the circumstances. “I’ll start from the beginning, with work.”
I HAD WALKED into my office on Friday morning, business as usual. Around ten, I received an email from Paige, the firm’s president, asking me to meet her in her office at three o’clock. It struck me as a little unusual that she didn’t mention the purpose of the meeting, but otherwise nothing else tipped me off to what was going to be the start of my doomsday. Until then, I made some calls, followed up on some press releases, and reviewed copy for some marketing materials. I asked Kate if she wanted to go to lunch, but she said she was working through. Again, this was nothing unusual since she typically works through lunchtime and grabs something later in the day.
When I walked into Paige’s office at three, I was mildly surprised to see Darren from Human Resources also sitting in the room.
“Hi, guys,” I said, as I lightly knocked on the door, not sure if I was interrupting their conversation.
Both stood up.
“Good afternoon, Allison,” said Paige from behind her desk. “Please have a seat.” She gestured at the chair next to where Darren had been sitting.
Darren nodded at me in greeting and, the second I took my seat, abruptly closed the door before sitting back down next to me.
“So what’s going on?” I asked.
With Darren there and the door closed, I wasn’t sure if this meeting was about a client or an employee matter. Noting the pained expression behind Paige’s eyes, I knew that whatever this was about, it wasn’t going to be good.
Paige took a deep breath before starting. “Allison, we’ve been colleagues for a long time now, so what I have to say is very hard.”
My first thought was, Oh my god, Paige is leaving. Or even more disastrous, perhaps she was ill or someone in her family was ill. Is that why she did the breast cancer walk last year? I immediately wanted to say some words of comfort, but felt it would be inappropriate. So I remained quiet waiting for her next words.
“As you know, over the last several months, some of your major clients have reduced their budgets, and we’ve received some complaints about cost.”
This is not unusual in our industry. If there is economic uncertainty or a downturn, the first thing companies do is start scrutinizing the bills and slashing their marketing budgets. I simply nodded, wondering what this had to do with Paige’s leaving and being sick.
“More recently, clients have been complaining about you,” she continued.
This news was unusual, and I could feel my heart begin to race. Paige was fine—I was the one who was going to be sick.
“They’ve been questioning your efficiency and costs, and several have requested another account manager who might be better suited to their goals.”
Though I tried to keep my face neutral, I could feel myself blinking too much as I rapidly tried to figure out how to respond. “I’m so sorry, Paige, but this is all news to me.” I willed myself not to be defensive. “Which clients have complained?” And why didn’t anyone tell me?
“It doesn’t matter at this point. But as president, I’m ultimately responsible for keeping them happy.”
“Of course.” I’d always followed the rule of apologizing and then immediately fixing whatever needed to be fixed. Though how could I fix something if I didn’t know what was broken? I needed to stand up for myself the best I could. “Although a couple clients have recently reduced their budgets, I’ve managed to convince them not to reduce down to what they proposed and also found creative ways to maximize their presence in the marketplace with less cost. But, otherwise, none of my clients have mentioned their dissatisfaction to me. If I knew exactly which clients and what their issues are, I’m sure I can fix it.”
“I know, Allison. You’re one of our best account managers. I don’t understand it either.” Paige shook her head. “But as you just mentioned, some of our clients are tightening their belts and so must we. We need to look at our teams and decide where we can consolidate. Unfortunately, when these things happen the firm can’t afford to keep everyone on.”
As she spoke, my thoughts swirled. Am I going to have to decide who gets fired on my team? Oh god, I don’t want to do this.
“And when there are complaints and threats from our clients to change agencies, we have to take action. Which means, I’m truly sorry, Allison, but we have to let you go.”
The room was silent as blood rushed and roared in my ears.
“I’m fired?” I asked, tentatively.
“Let go. Yes. I’m sorry.” Paige held my gaze as I stared at her in utter disbelief.
“But I’ve been here twelve years. Why didn’t anyone tell me there was a problem? You know I could’ve fixed it.” My hands reflexively gripped my chair to keep me steady, and I couldn’t stand the sound of my tiny voice in that topsy-turvy room.
“I know you could’ve. But, unfortunately, this is purely a business decision. Though, trust me, this was not my decision.” She said this last part with emphasis.
I fought the competing desires to leave with dignity and to grovel for my job back.
“But, Paige, you’re the president.” I knew I sounded accusatory, but I was too confused to care.
“I know,” Paige said, her voice sympathetic but firm, “but this came from above.” I assumed she meant Tim and Allen who are respectively the director and chief public officer of PR Worldwide and above Paige’s position. “I tried, but I couldn’t change their minds on this one.”
“I’m sorry too, Allison,” Darren finally piped up. “I’m going to miss you. It’s days like this that I hate my job.”
I turned to him. “In that case, can I take yours?” Darren recognized my pathetic attempt at gallows humor and gave me a sympathetic smile, which made me feel even more pathetic. I turned back to Paige. “I just don’t understand. Is there anything I can say or do to change this?”
“No.” Paige shook her head sadly again, defeat in her voice. “I did what I could, Allison. I hope you believe me.”
I believed her, but I still couldn’t believe what was happening. In that moment, though, I felt it best to preserve what self-respect I had and tried to leave behind a dignified last impression by accepting my termination. Darren placed some forms in front of me that I signed without reading (probably saying things like I won’t sue the company and I agree I’ve been terminated), but I could barely listen and just did as I was told.
Even worse, Darren had to accompany me back to my desk to ensure I wouldn’t steal anything from the office, such as client lists. He already had a couple boxes ready for me in my office for my personal effects.
I
like Darren and I knew this sucked for him too. The whole event was awkward for both of us. Even more awkward was that I needed two boxes, and how the heck was I going to carry two boxes on the El ride home? The reality hit me and I could feel tears stinging at the back of my eyes.
“I’m going to have to call Neil. I don’t know how I can get these boxes home.”
“Sure. Or I can give you a ride,” Darren said. “It’s the least I can do.”
Though I was well aware of the inappropriateness of the HR guy driving me home in such circumstances, over the years Darren and I had become friends, and when I got Neil’s voicemail, I decided to accept his kind offer. I took my time with packing my belongings, hoping I could stretch out my packing to five o’clock, also hoping Neil would call me back. But at about ten to five, I was finished.
“I’m going to need your badge,” Darren said, his face scrunched up in his I-hate-this-too expression, eyebrows simultaneously raised and knit together. In his cardigan and bow tie, he always struck me as someone who would rather be determining the authenticity of a Biedermeier dresser at a dusty auction house than handling employee disputes in a corporate high-rise. I handed over my badge feeling the finality of it all.
We each carried out a box. Thankfully it was someone else’s birthday, too, so most of my coworkers were away from their desks partaking in cake in the conference room, rather than widely witnessing my humiliation or asking me questions on my way out of the building.
On the car ride home, Darren kept apologizing. “If you forgot anything in your office, just let me know and I’ll get it for you,” he added.
“Thanks.” A part of me wished he’d stop being so nice because it was weird to be thanking the person who just helped fire me.
The whole agonizing time in the car I was hoping, praying Neil was already home from work. I needed to tell someone about my surreal day and get sympathy from someone other than HR Darren. Then I could feel the panic rising because, with the wedding coming up, our costs had been exploding. Neil is going to freak out, I thought.
