“I think we’re ready,” Beth said.
Kurt Myers nodded, and Beth dialed a number on her cell phone. Plant security. It was obvious from the context of the conversation that she had made previous arrangements to have Kevin escorted out of the facility following his termination notice. This was just a confirmation call, a last-minute check to make sure that the security guards would be ready.
Next Beth called Kevin’s immediate supervisor. If my memory serves me correctly, his name was Gus Traynor. TP Automotive hadn’t brought him into the loop. Gus had been part of the pre-buyout GLFS management team, and his loyalties were uncertain. He wouldn’t be informed of the situation until Kevin had signed his papers and was safely out the door.
“Hello, Gus? Beth Fisk here. Could you please ask Kevin Lang to come to Room 107?” she said. “Thank you.” Beth terminated the phone call before Gus could ask any questions.
Kurt Myers nodded approvingly and Beth looked away before smiling. Not a smile of humor, of course, but rather a smile of satisfaction. True, I had done most of the footwork and the dirty work, but Beth was going to claim most of the credit internally. That’s the way it works with consultants. Whatever they do—either good or bad—ends up on the shoulders of the internal corporate employee who hired them.
Beth had hired me and approved my plan for ensnaring Kevin Lang. She had shopped the proposal around and sold it up through the management ranks, all the way to the executive board—all the way to Kurt Myers. Kurt Myers was a vice president of strategic planning at the TP Automotive headquarters, and the board member who had ultimate authority over the GLFS buyout.
This would be another feather in Beth’s cap, no doubt one of many. She was probably aiming for a spot on the board herself before she turned forty. If her run of luck continued, that might come to pass.
When the doorknob turned, we all snapped to attention. A firing is always a nerve-wracking experience, even if security guards are just a few paces away. A firing is like an execution. You never know what the terminated employee might do when informed of his or her fate. I once attended a termination meeting in which the employee lunged at the presiding HR manager with a letter opener. Three security guards were required to disarm and restrain him. One of the guards was taken to the emergency room for stitches, after he was stabbed with the letter opener that had been intended for the human resources manager. And that guard had counted himself as lucky. The letter opener had come within a hair’s breadth of puncturing his carotid artery.
Kevin stood in the doorway.
“Please come in, Kevin,” Beth said.
Kevin did as instructed. “Should I stand or sit?” he asked.
“Why don’t you remain standing,” Beth replied. “We won’t need much of your time.”
Kevin’s eyes swept the people assembled before him. I had leaned back so that I was mostly obscured by Bernie’s profile. There was no immediate sign of recognition in Kevin’s face. At least not that I could tell. But he did recognize Kurt Myers.
“I suppose I should be flattered,” Kevin said. “I rated a time slot on the schedule of Mr. Kurt Myers. Not to mention Kurt Junior.”
Shawn snorted before replying. “Tough talk for a dumbass pothead.”
Kurt, Beth, and Bernie Chapman simultaneously glared at Shawn Myers. I was aware of some of the history here, but not all of it. Beth had already had to cover for Shawn Myers at least once in the past. And from what I had heard, Bernie Chapman had been cleaning up Shawn’s messes for years. Bernie had been the Myers family’s attorney before he was hired by TP Automotive.
As the human resources manager present, Beth Fisk took it upon herself to lead the meeting. “We have the results of your drug test here. You tested positive for marijuana use. I’m sure you realize what that means, Kevin.”
Kevin had apparently decided that they had him, and there was no use in attempting to deny the basic facts.
“Yeah, I smoked some weed,” Kevin said. “You know it and I know it. But the important question is—how did you know it? And how did my name come up on the roster for a supposedly random drug test three times in three months? Doesn’t sound very random to me. And even if that unlikely series of events did occur, I think we all know that ethics would have demanded my being excused from the second—and certainly the third—test.”
I could tell that the raw shock of the situation was wearing off. Kevin was no longer afraid. He was gathering his strength, inspired by what he perceived as the grand injustice of it all.
“Something is going on here,” he continued. “And we all know that, just like we all know what those lab results say. And I want you to know that as soon as I leave here, I’m going to proceed directly to the office of Howard Steinkeller, attorney-at-law.
Kevin had hoped that this would rattle the TP Automotive management team. Howard Steinkeller was a Cleveland-area labor attorney who specialized in supporting union causes and standing up to big business concerns. Steinkeller was also an attention hog; he had a lot of clout with reporters at the local television stations. If Steinkeller decided to take up Kevin’s cause, he could easily expose TP Automotive’s alleged skullduggery on CNN and MSNBC within forty-eight hours. The Republican-leaning Fox News would likely carry the story as well. Big money’s mistreatment of the working man was a theme that struck populist chords with red- and blue-state audiences alike.
And when Kurt Myers smiled calmly back at him, I almost felt sorry for Kevin. He had no idea of what was coming.
“I don’t think you’re going to do that,” Kurt said.
“And why is that, Mr. Myers?” Kevin asked. His termination now a more or less done deal, Kevin saw no reason to avoid burning any bridges.
“I wish you hadn’t made it come to this,” Beth began. She opened the manila file folder and removed a small, stapled stack of papers.
Beth was shaking her head—partly in regret, partly in disappointment. Why was Kevin Lang insisting on making this even more painful for himself, she was no doubt thinking. The man did have skeletons in his closet, after all. And the truth was that Beth really hadn’t wanted it to come to this. She had displayed few qualms regarding the marijuana entrapment scheme. I remember her saying: “If Kevin Lang willingly smokes pot, then he deserves everything that will happen to him as a result of that decision.” But this next surprise was a boundary-pushing tactic even for her.
Kurt Myers might have sensed Beth’s hesitation. He reached out and took the papers from her. “May I, Beth? Please,” he said—as if Beth actually might protest. Beth nodded silently.
“Mr. Lang,” Kurt Myers said. He made a great display of reading through the two or three papers in his hands, even though he had already absorbed the pertinent information.
“Says here that you’re from rural Iowa. Is that true?”
“Yes it is. Any law against being from Iowa? Did I break any company regulations? I’m from a little town called—”
“Darcyville,” Kurt cut him off.
“I’m impressed,” Kevin retorted. “The resources of TP Automotive, a global corporation with plants on every continent, have been mobilized to determine that I hail from Darcyville, Iowa. Do you have a copy of my high school transcripts as well? Did you see my ‘C’ in chemistry?”
“No,” Kurt replied. “But I see here that you got an ‘A’ in drama.”
Kurt leaned back in his chair and laughed at Kevin’s astonished expression.
“Gotcha there, didn’t I?” Kurt asked, as if the two of them were old buddies hanging around on a Saturday afternoon. I knew that Kurt Myers hated unions with a passion. Even more, he hated employees who had the temerity to bring unions or any other form of outside agitation into a TP Automotive facility.
Kurt had thrown me for a loop as well: Had Kevin Lang really received an A in a high school drama course? Had Kurt’s barb been a lucky guess? Or did the file really contain a copy of Kevin’s high school academic records? The papers in Kurt’s hands had not co
me from me: TP Automotive had obtained these from another corporate security consultant—a man whose sole bailiwick is digging up dirt for employers. Few corporate managers have even met this consultant; he does all of his work via the Internet.
“What’s this all about?” Kevin asked. Perhaps he was beginning to piece things together by this time. Perhaps not.
“It seems that your father,” Kurt went on. “A Reverend Bradley Thomas Lang, is the pastor of the Darcyville Baptist Church. Is that correct, Mr. Lang?”
“That’s right,” Kevin said. “Are you going to threaten my father? Is that what this is about?”
“Please, please, Kevin.” Kurt flashed his million-dollar smile. This was a smile that had appeared on the front page of the Detroit Automotive Gazette only last week. The automotive industry’s chief publication was impressed with the work that Myers was doing at TP Automotive—how he was turning so many plants around, saving American jobs.
“You’re being melodramatic again,” Kurt went on. “We wouldn't think of threatening your father. In fact, I’m shocked that you would even suggest that.”
Kevin just stood there, saying nothing. I am no mind reader; but I knew that over the preceding weeks and months, Kevin had been mentally rehearsing a confrontation of this sort. This is a petty indulgence that practically every disgruntled employee permits himself; and for Kevin, the indulgence would have been compulsive and irresistible. He had no doubt been scripting what he would say, and imagining what Myers would say in response.
But Kevin had probably not imagined the conversation going quite like this. Kurt was toying with him now. And Kevin knew it. But he still didn't know where Kurt Myers ultimately planned to lead him.
“I think you’ll agree then, Kevin, that your father would be very dismayed to find out that his son had been terminated from a job for drug use.”
“You son-of-bitch,” Kevin said. “How dare you. How dare you! You’re threatening to tell my father that you busted me for smoking weed? That’s a violation of my—”
“Oh, I’m not threatening anything, Kevin. And let me tell you, lest you harbor any doubts, that TP Automotive would not engage in—and never has engaged in—a willful disclosure of an employee’s private information. That would violate numerous clauses of our code of ethics, which is posted on our company’s website. But the problem is, Kevin, that information wants to be free. And there are a lot of factors in this chain: not only TP automotive personnel, but lab employees, security service personnel, and others as well. Despite our best efforts to protect your privacy, there would be no way for us to completely guarantee that Reverend Lang wouldn't receive word of your indiscretion.”
Kurt had obviously thrown Kevin off balance. He was standing in the middle of the floor with his hands folded at his waist, looking down at the floor.
“I can't believe this. I absolutely cannot believe this,” he said.
“But there's more. Isn't there, Kevin?” Kurt Myers seemed to be having a difficult time in restraining what I can only describe as a sense of absolute, unalloyed glee. I was reminded of a quote I once heard, words that have been attributed to Genghis Khan: “A man’s greatest work is to break his enemies, to drive them before him, to take from them all the things that have been theirs, to hear the weeping of those who cherished them.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Kevin asked.
Then Beth interjected. “Kurt, maybe we don't need to––”
“No, no, Beth. Kevin leads a very colorful lifestyle. I'm sure that he's very proud of it.” Kurt began to rifle through the papers in his hands. “Tell me, Kevin: How much does it cost to take out a personal ad on a bisexual dating website? Or would that sort of service be found for free on the Internet nowadays?”
Kurt detached one of the papers and held it up so that Kevin could see it. I already knew that it was a photocopy of a personal ad that Kevin had indeed taken out on a website called clevelandbisexualdating.com. I didn't know anything else about this aspect of Kevin's life. I didn't know if this was just an exploratory thing for him, or if he had actually met men from this website. But for the son of a Baptist preacher, details like this wouldn't matter. The revelation contained in that single printout would be sufficient to destroy Kevin Lang—or at least his relationship with his father.
Kevin’s swagger was completely gone now. He was incredulous. He had anticipated that he would be the belligerent one in the room––the one who was pulling no punches, and maybe even skirting the rules of fair play. But now TP Automotive had completely turned the tables. Kevin wasn't just on the defensive—he was on his back.
“You would actually do that?” Kevin asked. The implied threat did not have to be spelled out.
Now Beth spoke up again. “I can assure you Kevin, that no one here wants to harm you in any way. TP Automotive is a family-friendly company, after all. The last thing we want is some sort of scandal.”
“Which is why,” Bernie Chapman broke in—the lawyer held up a printed sheet of paper in one hand; in the other he brandished a pen. “You would do everyone in this room a favor––and most of all yourself––if you would sign this voluntary resignation agreement.”
Chapter 4
To no one’s real surprise, Kevin Lang immediately caved after that. I’ve observed more than a few employees in his shoes, and I can tell you that almost all of them do exactly the same thing: They sign the voluntary resignation agreement.
It is easy for disgruntled employees to talk tough and threaten. It’s also easy for them to imagine the sorts of threats that will get a rise from corporate managers. Therefore, most of them talk about filing lawsuits or starting boycotts. The first of these always gives managers and HR department reps pause; the latter is effective if the employer sells directly to consumers.
The rise of social media has given angry employees and ex-employees yet another means of striking back at the hand that feeds them, and occasionally slaps them: Twenty years ago, if you had beef with your employer, you had almost no chance of taking the fight into the public square unless you convinced a journalist or a big-name attorney like Howard Steinkeller to take up your cause. Now you need only go home, boot up your computer, and air your grievances on YouTube, or on one of the numerous free-access blogging sites that have proliferated on the Internet. The playing field has been leveled—a brave new world of Internet-driven democracy. Or so they say.
This new attitude of empowerment fuels the courage of the Kevin Langs of the world—until they discover that their employer (whom they previously believed to be operating within a strictly delineated code of conduct) has upped the ante and raised the stakes on them. Like I said, I’ve seen it before: An employee comes into a termination meeting, full of confidence in his newly empowered state—and then he finds himself confronted with his own darkest secrets. Let me tell you—Kevin Lang wasn’t the first of them to experience this reversal. And he won’t be the last.
What amazes me more than anything is the surprise on their faces, as if they believed that a corporation worth $10 billion or $30 billion wouldn’t have the foresight to protect itself in this new era of the lawsuit and the Internet. It’s public knowledge that today most companies’ human resources departments actively investigate the activities of both current and prospective employees on social networking sites like Facebook. So why should it be a shocker when a company that wants to quietly fire someone digs up evidence of a predilection for marijuana or online porn?
Or—in the case of Kevin Lang—the secret life of a Baptist minister’s son who is struggling with his sexual identity?
The rest of the meeting with Kevin Lang was anticlimactic. After he signed the voluntary resignation agreement, two security guards—who had been waiting for him just beyond the door of the meeting room—escorted him out of the building. They were two burly men who looked like ex-marines. Each one bore a discreetly holstered sidearm. I happened to know that neither of these men was a regular at GLFS; Beth had called
the security firm to request them especially for today’s big event.
The security guards you see in company lobbies are contract employees dispatched by security firms. As a rule, these men and women fall a notch or two below the standards set by law enforcement agencies. More than half are well past their primes, pencil-necked, or challenged by their expanding waistlines. The majority of them would be lucky to nab a shambling eighty-year-old shoplifter.
But the corporate security firms also keep “special duty” guards on their payrolls: large, intimidating men who are skilled in the arts of physical coercion. Many have experience working within the penitentiary system. These sorts of bruisers can be sent to a client’s location in the event that trouble is anticipated. These are the men who are placed on duty on those days when volatile employees are told that their services are no longer needed.
But that was all behind us for today. Beth adjourned the meeting, and we left Kevin Lang to whatever future awaited him among the want ads. His termination was technically voluntary; he could truthfully tell other employers that he had resigned of his own free will—as if blue-collar workers make a habit of quitting their jobs on a lark in a poor economy. Any interviewer worth his or her salt would suspect the truth; but perhaps one of them would give him the benefit of the doubt. More importantly, the voluntary resignation meant that TP Automotive would be able to deny Kevin unemployment, should he attempt to file for it. And of course Bernie’s document contained a clause that prevented Kevin from attempting any sort of wrongful termination suit.
Termination Man: a novel Page 4
