NaNoWriMo - Day 11 (11/11/2005)
He gets to the bottom of the stairs and we’re all there just staring at him. He stops and stares right back at us, looking us right in the eyes, one at a time. If he was a pushover before he isn’t one now. At least not at the moment.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Cunningham?” I ask. There is a snort of giggles behind me and I blush. “That’s not what I—” I stammer and he looks at me, not unkindly.
“I know. What’s your name?”
“Julia. Julia Sinclair.”
“As a matter of fact, Julia, I do need some assistance. Would you come with me please?” he asks, starting to walk through the crowd towards the centre of the office.
He stops short when I say, “Sure thing, Mr. Cunningham,” and comes back and stands face-to-face with me. He’s looking at me so intensely that I almost forget where we are.
“Julia, there’s absolutely no need for you to call me Mr. Cunningham. There never really was—”
“It’s company policy to address our—”
“I know what the policy is, Julia. It’s a stupid policy. But I no longer work here, so regardless of whatever we might think about this policy, it certainly doesn’t apply in this particular case. My name is Simon and I’d just soon be called by my first name as anything else. Okay?”
“Sure thing Mr. Cu—Simon.”
“Better, thank you.”
There is an air of tension hanging around us as Simon turns again to walk through the crowd towards the centre of the office where his cubicle sits. The Sirs were not the only one keen on having a firing today, from the look of things and it’s as if Mr. Cunningham—Simon—can feel it too.
“Disappointed?” he asks, though to no one in particular. And no one seems brave enough to challenge him at the moment and no answer is forthcoming. I follow him through the crowd as he says this, and when no one answers I can make out that he’s muttering to himself. I can’t clearly hear what he’s saying, but I do catch snippets of his self-dialogue. “… figures … cowards … wait’ll … wife feels …”
We clear the crowd and his pace increases so that I have to sort of trot in order to keep up with him. I want to ask him what exactly he needs from me but I too am a little scared of him at the moment. I need to find out though, because it could cost me my own job and that’s something I’m not ready to sacrifice for this guy, no matter how right he might be.
“Simon?” He stops in his tracks and looks at me expectantly. “I wonder … er, I’m just trying to figure out what I can help you with. As you know, I’ve only been working here for a few weeks now and I really don’t want to jeopardize my position. I’m more than happy to help,” I quickly add when I see his face tighten.
“Are you happy to help or are you concerned about saving your own ass?” he asks, which is a little unfair. We’ve never even spoken before. He probably never noticed me until I was the first one at the bottom of the stairs. Even then, I’m not sure if he would have noticed me at that point if I hadn’t spoken directly to him.
“Look Mr. Cunningham … Simon, I don’t know what went on up in that office. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I’m guessing, from all the flying paper, that you quit on them before they had a chance to fire you—at least that’s what people down here were saying. I don’t know if you deserved to be fired or not. I don’t really know anything about this place or about anyone who works here. So forgive me for saying this so bluntly, but I am concerned with both helping and saving my own ass. Especially if helping is going to put me in a position where my ass needs to be saved.”
The lines on his face soften, just a little bit, and then his entire body relaxes. He looks at me with his soft, gentle eyes and I can see that he’s more than just a little bit scared as well as mad as all hell. His hands are trembling slightly at his sides.
“You’re absolutely right, Julia. I’m very sorry. I guess I got carried away by all the drama. I’m not usually in the middle of such situations, so it’s a little disconcerting for me. I did not deserve to be fired—I still have no idea why they were planning it, but it was like they had actually rehearsed it. It was like being in a play except I was both the audience and the lead character. I have done my job here for fifteen years and not once have I had a complaint about my work. Not so much as a warning. So, when I was called up there today, I kind of … lost it. A little.”
“I understand that Simon,” I tell him, looking up at him. I kind of feel as if I’m his daughter for some strange reason. Like I’m getting a life lesson from Daddy. “I just don’t want to lose my job too, just because I helped you. Maybe this isn’t the best place to work; maybe this job isn’t for me; but I need to be able to figure that out for myself instead of having it figured out for me. Besides, being fired never looks good on a resume.”
Smiling, he says, “That’s the real reason I wanted to quit before they could fire me.”
I laugh and cover my mouth. “Sorry,” I say, “I know it isn’t really funny.”
His smile widens, “It’s okay. If we can’t laugh at ourselves, who can we laugh at, right? Listen, let me tell you what I need help with and if you think that’s something you’re able to do, then that’s great. If not, that’s fine too. I don’t want to be getting you in any trouble, or making your decisions for you. Okay?”
Sounds fair. “Okay,” I tell him.
As we walk the rest of the way back to his cubicle together, he tells me that he really only needs help packing up his personal belongings, while he separates his work stuff from his own. He also says that he needs to get some personal files from his computer. When we enter the cubicle he goes straight to work, pulling pictures of his girlfriend or wife down, throwing personal memorabilia and anything else that he thinks belongs to him into a pile in the centre of the space. He finds a mostly empty cardboard box, dumps the contents into a corner and passes it to me to pack all his stuff into.
As I crouch down and get to work, Simon sits down at his computer and starts backing up his files.
“Hey, we’re not supposed to keep personal files on our work computers,” I taunt him playfully. “You can get fired for that you know.”
Without turning around to face me he says, “In less than two minutes there won’t be any files on this computer, personal or otherwise. I’m formatting the hard drive.”
“Wow, you’ve really got it in for these guys … what happened up there, anyway?”
He hits the enter key on his keyboard with a flourish, turns off the monitor so no one can see what’s happening on the screen, then swivels his chair around to face me. “You want to know what happened?”
I nod. “All right, I’ll tell you, but promise you’ll remember just one thing before I do.”
“Sure, what’s that?”
“Promise that you’ll remember this is only one side of the story … my side. There are always at least three sides to every story; my version, your version and the truth. All I can give you is my version. I can only speak from my experience. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. So here’s what happened—” Just then two security guards walk in to the cubicle. They move quickly over to where Simon sits and stand in front of him, between us. I continue to put his belongings into the cardboard box.
“Mr. Cunningham?” one of the guards says gruffly.
“My father was Mr. Cunningham,” Simon says blandly, looking up at the guard. “My name is Simon.”
“You are Mr. Simon Cunningham then?”
“If you insist.”
“Mr. Cunningham, we have orders to remove you from the building immediately. It’s company policy that anyone who’s employment is terminated must be escorted out of the building immediately. It’s a security issue sir, I’m sure you understand.” He reaches down and tries to take hold of Simon’s arm, but Simon shakes him off.
“I certainly do understand, however the policy you’ve just described doesn’t seem to apply in this case. I haven’t been terminated.”
“We just spoke with Misters Jenkins and Alabastor. They have informed that your position was recently terminated.”
“By terminated you seem to be implying that I was fired. Is that the case?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’d suggest you march right on back up there and ask Misters Jenkins and Alabastor what the policy is when an employee terminates their employer. As far as I’m concerned, the company should be escorted out of the building. That’s my policy.”
In trying to hold back my laughter I let out a loud snort and the guards turn around to look at me. It’s like they’ve noticed I’m here for the first time. “What is she doing here?” the talking guard asks, turning back to Simon.
“You’ll have to ask her,” Simon says, standing up now. “But not until we’ve cleared this other matter of the termination up.”
“There is nothing to clear up, Mr. Cunningham.”
“It’s Willie Alabastor, come down from his perch on high to mingle with the little folk,” Simon says loudly. He has drawn the attention of just about the entire company and it seems clear that no work will get done today. People will be talking about this all afternoon and for at least a few days to come beyond that as well. “Let’s sit down and talk about this Willie, shall we?”
Mr. Alabastor clears his throat and repeats, “There is nothing to clear up or talk about, Mr. Cunningham. Regardless of your position, the termination documents have already been drawn up. They were dated two days ago, when the decision to release you due to your shoddy work ethic and inability to arrive to work at your scheduled time. Your record of employment has similarly been composed and signed, Mr. Cunningham. Your employment here has been terminated. And your employment history will reflect this fact.”
“Well, Willie my boy,” Simon says, still standing, “that’s where we see things different, isn’t it? However, I’m sure that we can come to some sort of understanding about the situation. I’m sure that you would prefer not to have the Ministry of Labour come down here and have a look around, check your files, talk to the staff. Or would you?”
Alabastor doesn’t say anything. He just stands there red-faced—getting redder by the minute—looking at Simon.
“Right. Didn’t think so. I expect that you’ll have the correct documents drawn up for your approval and signature by the end of the day. I will need them rather quickly.”
“Mr. Cunningham,” begins Alabastor, who has found his voice again although it’s not nearly as strong as it was when he first entered the cubicle. “Please pack up your things and get out of this office. It is our policy that any employee whose employment is terminated … or who terminates their own employement … must be escorted immediately out of the building for the security of our company.”
“So you acknowledge that I have terminated my own employment here then, do you?” Simon asks loudly, ensuring that everyone can hear.
“I do,” Mr. Alabastor concedes quietly. “You have five minutes in which to collect your personal things and then these two gentlemen,” he gestures roughly with his arm at the two guards still standing silently in the cubicle, unsure what to do next, “will escort you out of the building, at which time you are asked never to return.”
“Deal,” Simon tells him. Still looking him right in the eyes, Simon extends his hand offering a handshake. Mr. Alabastor looks from Simon’s face, to his hand, and back to his face again. He slowly raises his own hand and reaches out to grasp Simon’s. At the very last moment, just before their hands meet in the middle, Simon pulls his away, brushing it through his hair in that old elementary-school fashion that was so embarrassing for the person on the receiving end.
Apparently, it’s not just embarrassing for school kids.
“Get out, Mr. Cunningham. Or we really will have a problem.” He drops his hand, turns on his heel and strides out of the cubicle. Everyone watches as he goes, walking across the room, up the stairs and finally into the office he shares with Mr. Jenkins.
Today’s word count: 2221
Cumulative word count: 15,997
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Cunningham?” I ask. There is a snort of giggles behind me and I blush. “That’s not what I—” I stammer and he looks at me, not unkindly.
“I know. What’s your name?”
“Julia. Julia Sinclair.”
“As a matter of fact, Julia, I do need some assistance. Would you come with me please?” he asks, starting to walk through the crowd towards the centre of the office.
He stops short when I say, “Sure thing, Mr. Cunningham,” and comes back and stands face-to-face with me. He’s looking at me so intensely that I almost forget where we are.
“Julia, there’s absolutely no need for you to call me Mr. Cunningham. There never really was—”
“It’s company policy to address our—”
“I know what the policy is, Julia. It’s a stupid policy. But I no longer work here, so regardless of whatever we might think about this policy, it certainly doesn’t apply in this particular case. My name is Simon and I’d just soon be called by my first name as anything else. Okay?”
“Sure thing Mr. Cu—Simon.”
“Better, thank you.”
There is an air of tension hanging around us as Simon turns again to walk through the crowd towards the centre of the office where his cubicle sits. The Sirs were not the only one keen on having a firing today, from the look of things and it’s as if Mr. Cunningham—Simon—can feel it too.
“Disappointed?” he asks, though to no one in particular. And no one seems brave enough to challenge him at the moment and no answer is forthcoming. I follow him through the crowd as he says this, and when no one answers I can make out that he’s muttering to himself. I can’t clearly hear what he’s saying, but I do catch snippets of his self-dialogue. “… figures … cowards … wait’ll … wife feels …”
We clear the crowd and his pace increases so that I have to sort of trot in order to keep up with him. I want to ask him what exactly he needs from me but I too am a little scared of him at the moment. I need to find out though, because it could cost me my own job and that’s something I’m not ready to sacrifice for this guy, no matter how right he might be.
“Simon?” He stops in his tracks and looks at me expectantly. “I wonder … er, I’m just trying to figure out what I can help you with. As you know, I’ve only been working here for a few weeks now and I really don’t want to jeopardize my position. I’m more than happy to help,” I quickly add when I see his face tighten.
“Are you happy to help or are you concerned about saving your own ass?” he asks, which is a little unfair. We’ve never even spoken before. He probably never noticed me until I was the first one at the bottom of the stairs. Even then, I’m not sure if he would have noticed me at that point if I hadn’t spoken directly to him.
“Look Mr. Cunningham … Simon, I don’t know what went on up in that office. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I’m guessing, from all the flying paper, that you quit on them before they had a chance to fire you—at least that’s what people down here were saying. I don’t know if you deserved to be fired or not. I don’t really know anything about this place or about anyone who works here. So forgive me for saying this so bluntly, but I am concerned with both helping and saving my own ass. Especially if helping is going to put me in a position where my ass needs to be saved.”
The lines on his face soften, just a little bit, and then his entire body relaxes. He looks at me with his soft, gentle eyes and I can see that he’s more than just a little bit scared as well as mad as all hell. His hands are trembling slightly at his sides.
“You’re absolutely right, Julia. I’m very sorry. I guess I got carried away by all the drama. I’m not usually in the middle of such situations, so it’s a little disconcerting for me. I did not deserve to be fired—I still have no idea why they were planning it, but it was like they had actually rehearsed it. It was like being in a play except I was both the audience and the lead character. I have done my job here for fifteen years and not once have I had a complaint about my work. Not so much as a warning. So, when I was called up there today, I kind of … lost it. A little.”
“I understand that Simon,” I tell him, looking up at him. I kind of feel as if I’m his daughter for some strange reason. Like I’m getting a life lesson from Daddy. “I just don’t want to lose my job too, just because I helped you. Maybe this isn’t the best place to work; maybe this job isn’t for me; but I need to be able to figure that out for myself instead of having it figured out for me. Besides, being fired never looks good on a resume.”
Smiling, he says, “That’s the real reason I wanted to quit before they could fire me.”
I laugh and cover my mouth. “Sorry,” I say, “I know it isn’t really funny.”
His smile widens, “It’s okay. If we can’t laugh at ourselves, who can we laugh at, right? Listen, let me tell you what I need help with and if you think that’s something you’re able to do, then that’s great. If not, that’s fine too. I don’t want to be getting you in any trouble, or making your decisions for you. Okay?”
Sounds fair. “Okay,” I tell him.
As we walk the rest of the way back to his cubicle together, he tells me that he really only needs help packing up his personal belongings, while he separates his work stuff from his own. He also says that he needs to get some personal files from his computer. When we enter the cubicle he goes straight to work, pulling pictures of his girlfriend or wife down, throwing personal memorabilia and anything else that he thinks belongs to him into a pile in the centre of the space. He finds a mostly empty cardboard box, dumps the contents into a corner and passes it to me to pack all his stuff into.
As I crouch down and get to work, Simon sits down at his computer and starts backing up his files.
“Hey, we’re not supposed to keep personal files on our work computers,” I taunt him playfully. “You can get fired for that you know.”
Without turning around to face me he says, “In less than two minutes there won’t be any files on this computer, personal or otherwise. I’m formatting the hard drive.”
“Wow, you’ve really got it in for these guys … what happened up there, anyway?”
He hits the enter key on his keyboard with a flourish, turns off the monitor so no one can see what’s happening on the screen, then swivels his chair around to face me. “You want to know what happened?”
I nod. “All right, I’ll tell you, but promise you’ll remember just one thing before I do.”
“Sure, what’s that?”
“Promise that you’ll remember this is only one side of the story … my side. There are always at least three sides to every story; my version, your version and the truth. All I can give you is my version. I can only speak from my experience. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. So here’s what happened—” Just then two security guards walk in to the cubicle. They move quickly over to where Simon sits and stand in front of him, between us. I continue to put his belongings into the cardboard box.
“Mr. Cunningham?” one of the guards says gruffly.
“My father was Mr. Cunningham,” Simon says blandly, looking up at the guard. “My name is Simon.”
“You are Mr. Simon Cunningham then?”
“If you insist.”
“Mr. Cunningham, we have orders to remove you from the building immediately. It’s company policy that anyone who’s employment is terminated must be escorted out of the building immediately. It’s a security issue sir, I’m sure you understand.” He reaches down and tries to take hold of Simon’s arm, but Simon shakes him off.
“I certainly do understand, however the policy you’ve just described doesn’t seem to apply in this case. I haven’t been terminated.”
“We just spoke with Misters Jenkins and Alabastor. They have informed that your position was recently terminated.”
“By terminated you seem to be implying that I was fired. Is that the case?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’d suggest you march right on back up there and ask Misters Jenkins and Alabastor what the policy is when an employee terminates their employer. As far as I’m concerned, the company should be escorted out of the building. That’s my policy.”
In trying to hold back my laughter I let out a loud snort and the guards turn around to look at me. It’s like they’ve noticed I’m here for the first time. “What is she doing here?” the talking guard asks, turning back to Simon.
“You’ll have to ask her,” Simon says, standing up now. “But not until we’ve cleared this other matter of the termination up.”
“There is nothing to clear up, Mr. Cunningham.”
“It’s Willie Alabastor, come down from his perch on high to mingle with the little folk,” Simon says loudly. He has drawn the attention of just about the entire company and it seems clear that no work will get done today. People will be talking about this all afternoon and for at least a few days to come beyond that as well. “Let’s sit down and talk about this Willie, shall we?”
Mr. Alabastor clears his throat and repeats, “There is nothing to clear up or talk about, Mr. Cunningham. Regardless of your position, the termination documents have already been drawn up. They were dated two days ago, when the decision to release you due to your shoddy work ethic and inability to arrive to work at your scheduled time. Your record of employment has similarly been composed and signed, Mr. Cunningham. Your employment here has been terminated. And your employment history will reflect this fact.”
“Well, Willie my boy,” Simon says, still standing, “that’s where we see things different, isn’t it? However, I’m sure that we can come to some sort of understanding about the situation. I’m sure that you would prefer not to have the Ministry of Labour come down here and have a look around, check your files, talk to the staff. Or would you?”
Alabastor doesn’t say anything. He just stands there red-faced—getting redder by the minute—looking at Simon.
“Right. Didn’t think so. I expect that you’ll have the correct documents drawn up for your approval and signature by the end of the day. I will need them rather quickly.”
“Mr. Cunningham,” begins Alabastor, who has found his voice again although it’s not nearly as strong as it was when he first entered the cubicle. “Please pack up your things and get out of this office. It is our policy that any employee whose employment is terminated … or who terminates their own employement … must be escorted immediately out of the building for the security of our company.”
“So you acknowledge that I have terminated my own employment here then, do you?” Simon asks loudly, ensuring that everyone can hear.
“I do,” Mr. Alabastor concedes quietly. “You have five minutes in which to collect your personal things and then these two gentlemen,” he gestures roughly with his arm at the two guards still standing silently in the cubicle, unsure what to do next, “will escort you out of the building, at which time you are asked never to return.”
“Deal,” Simon tells him. Still looking him right in the eyes, Simon extends his hand offering a handshake. Mr. Alabastor looks from Simon’s face, to his hand, and back to his face again. He slowly raises his own hand and reaches out to grasp Simon’s. At the very last moment, just before their hands meet in the middle, Simon pulls his away, brushing it through his hair in that old elementary-school fashion that was so embarrassing for the person on the receiving end.
Apparently, it’s not just embarrassing for school kids.
“Get out, Mr. Cunningham. Or we really will have a problem.” He drops his hand, turns on his heel and strides out of the cubicle. Everyone watches as he goes, walking across the room, up the stairs and finally into the office he shares with Mr. Jenkins.
Today’s word count: 2221
Cumulative word count: 15,997
posted by Paul Keetch at 11:03 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home