My "Career" ~ Part 10 ~ Thank You, Goodbye

Our new site manager, I'll call him McCreepy, sat in my office only the week before, and told me, flat out, "I don't know how I can justify your salary".

I disdained McCreepy for his typical insecurity. Because I didn't report to him, he was feeling the need to throw his weight around. I couldn't have cared less what he could or couldn't justify. My pay wasn't coming out of his budget.

I also wasn't interested in attending his stupid strategy meetings that included every department on site, so he could include me or dis-include me; whichever made him feel better about himself. Peter was the one doing my department's strategizing. The two meetings I had attended had just made me angry. The small-minded department heads, including Linda, used up what little gumption they had jockeying for McCreepy's attention and approval (and for the prime seating spot at the table), and the one time I was actually asked a question, McC's minions snickered and snorted. Ahhh, the room reeked of fake superiority.

"Justify my salary." Asshole. Oh yea, that's right, McCreepy. I just sit in my oak-paneled office, interloper that I am, every day, and I do nothing. Nothing. I basically listen to the morning show on FM radio, lean back in my chair, stick my feet up on the desk, and call up the facilities guy to complain that my office is too cold.

Oh, wait. That's you.

So, with McCreepy's immortal words ringing in my ears, I maneuvered my Taurus from the East Forty restaurant back to the office, pushing my sedan forward against that infernal, insistent wind.

Somebody flipped on the lights of the conference room up front, and there we all took our places.

I made a point of taking a chair as far away from Peter as I could. It was a long conference table, and I sat on the opposite side, at the far end. In the darkest corner of the room.

I'd always liked Peter, but now I hated him. I hated that he kept giving me beseeching looks, even though I refused to make eye contact with him. And I thought, you weasel. How dare you? How dare you lead me on? Tell me what a great job we're doing? And now you've flown in on the company jet from PA, and you're going to sit there and let whatever happen, happen?

"The company has decided", the prez finally uttered, "that it would be more efficient (cheaper) to relocate the IKFI operation to Arlington, Texas."

With that, he shuffled some prettily-stapled handouts around to each of us at the table. As I sat there, dazed, my mind wasn't able to form any cohesive thoughts, other than, "don't look at anyone", and, "hold it together!"

I honestly remember little of what was said that night, in the dim light of the conference room as I gazed out the big window upon the nearly empty parking lot and my sad car parked there in the front.

I have pictures in my mind, but few of the words remain. Peter, trying fruitlessly to catch my gaze. Lauren's hand on my arm. Penny and Tracy and my other supes, eyes downcast. 

"Your department is the best division in the company."

Was it only a scant half hour ago that the prez had said that to us? Had I imagined it? Maybe I had wanted to hear that, but he never actually said it. No, I wasn't delusional. I wouldn't have made up something like that.

Now, he was pointedly asking me, "How many of your people do you think would qualify for other jobs in the company?"

The one and only thing I remember saying that night was, "98 per cent of them!" I didn't mean to yell it, but I think I did.

Because I was hurt. Hurt for my people. One hundred and fifty people and five supervisors, none of whom deserved this.
 
Then there was more paper shuffling and talk of job testing and absorption of staff into other departments. I thought about Gaby, who was whip-smart, but was still struggling with the English language, trying hard to assimilate. What about Gaby? She had been my first official employee. Was she going to get a shot at another job in the office, or would she be discarded because her English wasn't fluent enough? Gaby had worked her butt off for our department. Corporate drones can be so cold.

Somebody (Peter?) announced that three meetings would be scheduled for the next day.  Meetings with the staff. We'd pull them into the cafeteria and break the news. We had two shifts and limited meeting space, so the three meetings, I suppose, were justifiable. Stupid, though. As if the first group wasn't going to run back and tell the second group everything that had transpired. Oh, sure, they would keep it a secret. And the second group would not breathe a word to the third. Because we told them not to. That's how it works. In dreamland.

That night after everything was said that needed to be said, I strode out of that conference room, and I spoke to no one. No long, loving farewells. Piss off. And leave me alone.

I fished around inside my purse for my car keys, unlocked the door, and slid in behind the wheel.

And for some unknown reason, I was paralyzed.

Until the sobs came.

There in the driver's seat, I lay my head against the steering wheel, and sobbed. Wracking, convulsing sobs.

The passenger door quietly opened and Lauren slid inside. "Are you okay?" she asked.

I don't remember what I said or if I said anything. But, at that singular heartbreaking moment,  I was so glad to have a friend.

 

To be continued..........