Pink Slips and Parting Gifts

by Deb Hosey White

  Which prompted his second call. He had seen the evil looks. For all he knew someone might want him dead. And with the news breaking in tomorrow’s morning editions that his cut in the deal was well over $90 million, Elkins also considered what others might want.

  “Bill?” Jeffrey said into the phone after dialing the security director’s number. “Do me a favor – get me a new rental car and two body guards.”

  Tears and Cheers

  Bob Dutton sailed into the parking lot past the mourning employees without giving them a second glance. Before leaving his car in his designated parking spot, he snapped open his cell and made a tee time for an afternoon round. As he walked to his office with his briefcase in one hand and a bottle of Dom in the other, he raised the champagne as he passed a few of his fellow execs. “Come on down and let’s celebrate,” he said around the unlit stogie in the corner of his mouth.

  In his own bliss, Bob was oblivious to the looks of anger, sadness and concern on the faces of the cubicle employees he was passing. In his office he flipped on the lights, threw his briefcase on the sofa and called for Margaret, his assistant.

  “Marge, run out to my car and bring the bag of stuff from the front seat will you?” Bob was standing behind his desk, already working on opening the first bottle. He failed to glance up to see the disgusted look on Margaret’s face.

  “Certainly,” she said coolly. Margaret had always thought of Bob as a tough straight shooter with expensive tastes and a big ego. But this morning as she walked out to his car, she was mulling over more derogatory adjectives to describe her boss. As his assistant, Margaret was the perfect counter-balance to Bob’s gruff demeanor. She had the ability to make nice and smooth things over with important contacts and clients when Bob was rude or abrasive in his haste to move projects forward. Those abrasive characteristics made Bob especially good at what he did. Her primary job was to tidy up any relationship messes he left behind, and she was good at it, in her own mature, formal but friendly manner.

  In the wake of this morning’s news, Margaret was seeing Bob through new eyes. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream when she returned to the office.

  “Thanks old girl,” Bob said as she walked in. Margaret put the bag of champagne, cigars and cups on his desk with a thump and shot him a stern look. For nearly a decade she’d put up with him calling her Marge instead of her actual name, but she was damned if she’d put up with “old girl.”

  “Careful there, Marge. That’s expensive stuff!” The small group of men who had already gathered in Bob’s office laughed. The first bottle was uncorked and making the rounds while the CD player blasted Beach Boys tunes.

  “Anything else?” Margaret’s voice had a definite edge to it, but Bob wasn’t paying attention. He was busy talking and gesturing to his audience as he related his U-turn-for-champagne story and began handing out cigars. In a louder voice Margaret interrupted.

  “Excuse me – Bob?” she emphasized, instead of the usual Mr. Dutton.

  For the first time that morning Bob actually met her icy glare.

  “What is it, Marge,” he answered in his hurry-up-and-get-out-of-my-office voice.

  “Congratulations,” Margaret flatly intoned, locking eyes with him, in a way that made Bob feel like she had just told him to go screw himself. Then she walked out of the office and shut the door.

  …With the Scissors, In the Corner Office

  By the time Norm Daniels parked his silver Audi sedan in the side parking lot at The Easton Company building, it was after 9 a.m. Not much of a talker, Norm was hoping to slip unnoticed through a side door and get to his office without a great deal of conversation along the way. There would be plenty of time in the coming weeks to beat to death the topic at hand – the sale of The Easton Company. He wanted no part of that this morning.

  Although soon to be one of the newly-minted Easton Company multimillionaires, Norm was having trouble locating the joy in this news. He liked his life the way it was and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to trade it away for a boatload of cash and parting gifts. He was comfortable in his roles and responsibilities at work and at home. He enjoyed his career and his routine, which included twenty laps at the health club pool each morning before work, a Caribou decaf with his Wall Street Journal, tuna salad at lunch, and a quick stop for a light beer with his local government contact every third Thursday evening before scheduled zoning meetings. His niche, planning and zoning, was boring fare compared to the more glitzy stuff his peers at Easton worked on. But that was okay with Norm. He liked finite. He enjoyed undemanding repetition. The only people who ever got excited about zoning were the Not In My Back Yard crowd who changed with the project and the seasons.

  The other part of his life that Norm dearly treasured was the experience of being well cared for. The existence of an executive at a Fortune 500 company can be meaningful in different ways to different people. Norm had no real interest in country club memberships, five star travel, or the extravagant expense account at his disposal. Even the beautiful panoramic lakefront view from his windowed corner office failed to impress him. Instead, Norm treasured not having to deal with all of life’s minor irritations, expectations and normal demands. For him, that was the most valuable executive privilege. He loved not being bothered by the world of car maintenance, dry cleaners, plumbers, bill paying, grocery shopping, lawn care, schedule juggling, tax preparation, estate planning, child care, car pools, finding the best physicians, making dinner reservations, or even resetting the clocks throughout his house twice a year. In one way or another, those things and many others were all taken care of for him. Some of them were company perks. Some were handled by his wife. The rest were things Jan had taken off his plate over the years as part of her responsibilities as his executive assistant. That left Norm free to be Norm. It was a great life.

  As Norm closed his office door and settled into the comfortable leather chair behind his desk, he sported a smug smile. He was quite pleased with himself. He had successfully traveled from the parking lot to the third floor with no more than a few head nods required of him along the way. What luck, Norm thought. Even Jan was away from her desk. He was home free.

  Just as Norm closed his office door, Jan returned from the ladies room. She had been there since that idiot finance manager dumped the news on her about the sale of the company. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She couldn’t believe she had gotten the news from some insensitive young snot who didn’t even know her name. Locked in the far bathroom stall, red-faced and crying, it had taken her all this time and an entire roll of toilet paper to control her furious anger and harness her tears. She felt betrayed, wasted, unappreciated and unloved. But most of all she was really, really angry. When Jan finally got her breathing back to normal, she blotted her face with wet paper towels and then attempted to reapply some make-up.

  Walking back to her desk Jan felt empty and fragile, but she believed she had her emotions sufficiently in check. As she put her purse on her desk, she looked up and noticed Norm in his office, looking the same as he looked every other morning, reviewing the schedule she had prepared for him as though nothing had changed.

  A few seconds later, Norm looked up from the daily schedule in his hand to see Jan coming though his door.

  “Good morn…”

  Before Norm could finish, Jan moved swiftly around his desk.

  “Why you sonofabitch…!” she screeched, leaning over him, her right hand raised in a fist above her head as though she was about to strike him.

  It was pure reflex that made Norm reach up and grab Jan’s forearm. And it was only then that he glanced up and saw the pair of scissors in her fist.

  Get the Hell Out!

  The party in Bob’s office was going full throttle by 10 a.m. Cigars were lit – even though the building was nonsmoking – the champagne was nearly gone and Bob’s mates were dancing and singing surf tunes in between loud and raucous conversations about living large with newfound weal
th.

  When Margaret walked out of Bob’s office an hour earlier, she headed directly to the executive suite and into Lee Martino’s office.

  Lee had joined the company two years earlier as Easton’s chief operating officer. His arrival prompted the retirement of senior company executives, each of whom might have been the next CEO if Jeffrey ever decided to retire. All three men had spent their careers at Easton and were serious businessmen. But when Jeffrey brought in Lee Martino and named him the new COO without discussion, the writing on the wall was clear. Lee was the new heir apparent waiting to take over The Easton Company when Jeffrey decided to step down.

  What employees liked most about Lee was his pleasant personality. He wasn’t a snob like many of Easton’s senior executives. Clearly, Lee appreciated the good life and quietly took full advantage of the company’s executive perks. The difference was that he didn’t flaunt such things in the presence of lower level employees. Lee treated all his coworkers with respect. He was a busy man but never too busy to say hello, or stop and talk for a few minutes. When Margaret entered Lee’s office, he had just arrived at his desk and was sliding his suit jacket onto the back of his chair.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Martino. I know it’s a busy morning…”

  Lee couldn’t help but chuckle at Margaret Warner’s businesslike demeanor and tone. “Yes, it certainly is Margaret. It’s going to be a very busy time for many of us over the next few months. What can I do for you?” he smiled politely but continued standing behind his desk.

  “A small favor. It’s about decorum. When you have a minute, could you drop by Bob’s office? I’d appreciate your feedback on something.”

  Before Lee could ask any questions, Margaret turned and left. Lee made some phone calls and attended a short meeting in the CEO’s office with their two executive secretaries. The intent was to provide instructions regarding which calls Jeffrey and Lee would and would not be taking that day, and how to handle inquiries from the press and other outsiders. In return, the secretaries talked about the employees’ reaction to the announcement. Lee’s assistant, Beverly, was straightforward in her comments.

  “You need to understand how upset we all are. People are in shock. They’re crying and calling their shrinks.”

  Sitting behind his desk, Jeffrey continued making notes and didn’t look up. “No doubt their lives will be a bit disrupted for a little while,” he murmured in a detached tone.

  Jeffrey’s apparent lack of interest made Lee uncomfortable. Lee added, “Okay. We’ll be sensitive to that. Thanks for letting us know.”

  Walking down the corridor to Bob’s office, Lee could hear the music before he turned the corner. The chorus of “Surfin’ Safari” filled the hallway. Margaret looked up from her desk and then glanced pointedly toward Bob’s door. Inside Bob and Ray Palmer had their shoes off, pants legs rolled up, and were dancing the swim on top of Bob’s desk. At least a dozen other party participants crammed the smoke filled room. Without hesitating, Lee swung the door open and walked in.

  “Hey good buddy,” Bob said loudly over the music when he saw Lee. Lee slammed the door shut behind him.

  “Turn off the music,” Lee enunciated in a low commanding voice. A few of the execs in the room read the anger on Lee’s face and one reached over and touched the pause button on the CD player.

  “Get out. All of you, out.” Lee seethed.

  “What the hell?” Bob shouted as he hopped down off the desk.

  “Let’s get this straight,” Lee continued, all six feet five inches of his body rigidly leaning forward, his eyes burning down into Bob’s face. It was quite clear whom he was addressing. “This is not a bar. This is not a frat party. This is still The Easton Company and your place of employment. I want you out. Get out of this office. Get out of this building. Get the hell out and don’t come back until you can conduct yourself professionally. And if you can’t do that, then don’t bother.”

  “What the…?” Bob began again, but Lee already had his hand on the doorknob.

  He looked back at Bob one more time and said, “I mean it! Get the hell out!”

  Twenty minutes later Bob and most of his entourage had reconvened at the hotel restaurant across the street from Easton’s offices. Occupying the large leather upholstered corner booth, the mood was more subdued than it had been in Bob’s office but the group was still noisy and happy as they ordered Bloody Marys and assigned foursomes for the afternoon’s golf outing.

  “Hey men.” Bob injected, his commanding officer voice interrupting the conversations around him. “A toast!” They raised their glasses. “To fun and freedom!” The group laughed and clinked glasses. “I do believe we have been released. Let’s get the hell out of here and go hit some balls.”

  And so it went for the next thirteen weeks. A majority of Easton’s mostly male upper management arrived late at the office – if at all – took long lunches and left early for the golf course when weather permitted.

  Meanwhile, in human resources, the legal department, the finance and accounting divisions – men and women alike were present from start to finish every day since the burden of merger work weighed heaviest upon their areas. Administrative staff and secretaries, mail clerks and the maintenance crew, along with most of Easton’s female employees – whether receptionists or senior vice presidents – arrived early to work, searched the internet for new jobs, and talked among themselves about daily developments in the merger process.

  Moods among workers continued to ramble from anger and disbelief, to sarcasm and sorrow. On some days, employees cared passionately about their work at The Easton Company. Other days, they felt detached and were careless about the work on their desks. Some cried regularly. Others took long lunches. Most everyone stopped working past five o’clock, unless specifically asked to stay. These dependable people were the employees who kept the business of The Easton Company functioning while the new owners waited to take over. In the wake of the announcement of sale, these were the employees who asked, “What are we supposed to be doing?” The answer came back, “Just keep doing what you’ve always done until someone instructs you otherwise.” So they did.

  But during the weeks between the announcement and the executed sale of the company, there was an inverse relationship between an employee’s sense of job responsibility and their total compensation. Those who were working hardest were generally the lowest paid, and they were about to get the short end of the stick when the company was sold.

  Bad Timing

  Tim Ferris was the last senior management employee hired before the Easton sale was announced. He had given up a lucrative position with an international company six times the size of Easton to take charge of Easton’s audit function.

  At age thirty-one, Tim and his wife had recently become parents for the first time. Their twin boys were born prematurely but had grown into very healthy ten-month-olds. Living through those stressful weeks of the boys’ hospitalization in the neonatal unit was just enough incentive for Tim to take a clear-eyed look at his job and his life and determine that a little more balance was in order. Following a short job search, he landed the position at Easton. The new job paid slightly more than his previous one and required less travel; and The Easton Company seemed family friendly – something he had not previously considered when evaluating employers. Still, Tim had given up advancement opportunities and bigger bonus potential at the larger organization to come to a smaller one. When he made his decision to change employers, the trade-offs seemed to make sense. With two infants in the family he was certain the move would be worth it in the long run.

  For six months life was good and Tim was happy. Then came the merger announcement. He was on his way to work that morning when he ran over some debris in the road that shredded his left rear tire and forced him to pull onto the shoulder. Tim decided to change the tire instead of waiting the better part of an hour for AAA to show up. It was a beautiful August day, but it was still August in Washington – too hot to be cha
nging a tire in a suit and tie. He had an important meeting with outside vendors on his morning schedule. Now here he was on the roadside, his white shirt wrinkled and stained with perspiration, and black marks on his rolled sleeves.

  That morning Tim was driving the family car since his MG was in the shop again. With the tire finally changed, he searched the car and rummaged in the trunk for a towel or a rag or anything on which to wipe his hands and face. There was nothing except a few infant size disposable diapers in the twins’ auxiliary diaper bag. He contemplated whether to limp the car back home on the donut spare and change clothes or continue on to work and attempt to clean himself up before the vendors meeting. As he was wiping his face with a tiny Huggies disposable diaper, Tim’s cell phone rang. Answering the call, he received the news about the sale of The Easton Company.

  It was Ben Morgan on the phone, one of his new friends and the chief information officer at Easton. Although both men were division heads, neither Tim nor Ben had received any advance notice about the sale. Hearing the news on his car radio, Ben immediately called Tim.

  “Oh God,” Tim moaned. “This can’t be happening.”

  “It makes me want to throw a brick through Elkins’ window,” Ben growled. “We’ve both been with Easton less than a year so we’re definitely screwed, man.”