Chapter 10: Aftermath

When Darrel Washington, my regional manager, called and asked to meet me for lunch I readily agreed. The customer I told him about last week had signed the upgraded contract and indicated the likely need for even more services.

When I got to the restaurant Darrel was already seated. There was a woman I didn’t know seated to his right dressed in a very severe business suit.

“Jimmy, thanks for meeting me at such short notice,” said Darrel. “This is Edith. She’s from HR and wants to speak with you.”

HR? Warning bells go off in every quadrant of my brain.

“Please, sit, Frederick,” said Edith, gesturing to the chair on her right.

I sit and look back and forth between my lunch companions.

“OK, what’s up?” I said, feigning ignorance of anything inappropriate.

Edith didn’t waste any time or pull any punches.

“Frederick, in short, you are being dismissed, effective immediately, for violations of the morality clause in your agreement with the company. You will be paid for services through today, but will not be eligible for a yearly bonus nor a payout of any unused vacation time. You will not be given a severance package, but your health benefits will remain in effect until they expire at the end of the month.”

My mouth dropped open when she said “dismissed,” and remained so until she finished speaking. I closed it to find it was completely dry and I smacked my lips a few times.

“What the fuck did you say?”

I alternated my stare between Edith and Darrel, hoping against hope that this was some kind of sadistic practical joke. Normally Darrel would correct me on my choice of language, but today he let it slide.

“Jimmy,” Darrel started, “we have been informed of a certain irregularity with one of your accounts. When we investigated it we found that it was indeed true.”

Edith picked up the narrative at this point.

“You have three contracts with Reliable Corporate Staffing. One is valued much, much lower than the other two.”

I immediately jumped on the opening.

“Yeah, remember Darrel, I told you about this when I originally signed ‘em. I used the first one to get started with the company which led to the next two.”

Even though I directed my answer to Darrel, Edith continued, “Yes, that is a good, company-approved practice, but as I’m sure you are aware, company policy also states that when more than one contract is signed with a customer all contracts must be normalized within one year. That means you should have offered the other two the same deal as the first, or bumped up the first to match the other two.”

Darrel took this moment to reinsert himself into the conversation with the crushing blow.

“Jimmy, the contract issue is serious, but by itself it may or may not have been a dismissable offense. The real problem is that you have been having an affair with the VP offered the lowest contract. Do I need to spell it out further?”

Earlier I was hoping against hope. Now I knew I was truly fucked.

“I see you have brought in your laptop,” said Edith. “Please leave that with us. All of your accounts have been frozen and you no longer have access to any of the company websites or email. Also be advised that any attempt to contact any of your former customers may result in legal action.”

I started to tense. I wanted to lash out, definitely verbally, and possibly physically, but out of the corner of my eye a pair of burly men were watching me closely. It didn’t take a genius to realize they were Edith’s security. Any lashing out toward her would likely land me in the hospital.

Instead, I stood, opened my laptop bag, took out the computer and dropped it unceremoniously on the table top.

“The bag is mine, but there’s your damn hardware.”

I stomped out of the restaurant and when clear of the door screamed at the top of my lungs, “FUCK!”

In the few steps it took to get to my car my rage had multiplied many-fold and my hands started to shake as keyed the unlock button on my fob. I thought about trying to find Edith’s car and fucking with it, but something held me back. Probably visions of Mister and Mister Burly inside the restaurant catching me in the act and beating the shit out of me.

Not having any real goal, I started the car, put it in gear, and just drove. Driving was not doing a very good job of calming my nerves. I don’t know how long I had been mindlessly turning left and right when my phone rang.

I hit the button on the steering wheel and screamed, “WHAT?”

An equally agitated voice screamed back, “WHAT, WHAT? You mother fucker. What the fuck is going on?”

Sheila was so enraged I didn’t recognize her voice at first.

“Sheila? Is that you? Why the fuck are you calling me on my cell?”

That unleashed a stream of profanity I was not expecting. When she calmed down to an almost-controlled fury I was able to follow her commentary.

“Why the fuck am I calling you? Why, you fuck-tard? Because I just got shit-canned. Did you hear me? I just got fired. Why? Because I decided to fuck a lowlife like you, you piece of shit. Some bullshit reason about fucking my supplier for a better contract. Just got escorted out of the fucking building like a two-bit criminal. So again, what the FUCK is going on?”

I had pulled off the road and was sitting in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Hearing that Sheila had also been fired caused a few gears to click into place. This was no coincidence. There was a coordinated effort by someone to inform both of our companies at the same time.

“Sheila ... Sheila? ... SHEILA!” I screamed trying to slow her rant, eventually slowing her long enough to say, “I don’t know what is going on, but I think Abby may know.”

“Know WHAT? Know about what is going on, or know about us?”

I took a deep breath and said quietly, “I don’t know, but my guess is she knows both.”

That set off another round of expletives followed by silence. In her rage Sheila had hung up and left me wondering what the fuck had just happened. The more I thought, the more pissed I got that Abby could have fucked us over so badly. I finally broke and dialed Abby’s number. Unfortunately, the rage I had briefly calmed came raring back when Abby answered the phone.

“What the FUCK did you do? I just got fired. What the fuck is going on?”

I paused and when I didn’t get a response I raged on.

“Fucking morality clause or some bullshit. How did they, I mean, there was nothing ... fuck, fuck, fuck ... I am, or should ... and YOU ... fuck...”

I was so mad I pounded my finger against the face of my phone eventually hitting the button to disconnect the call.

I made a decision in moment of fury-induced logic. I swung around to the other side of the Wal-Mart parking lot, filled my gas tank, and then made like a bat of hell en route to Sault Ste. Marie.

I make the drive in under three hours, and somewhat miraculously, without getting a ticket. Again, without really thinking through all the ramifications, I go directly to Sheila’s house.

I park in the driveway and march up to her front door. I test the handle and find it unlocked so I make my way inside. I find Sheila sitting at the kitchen table with a glass in hand, the ice bucket from the freezer sitting nearby sending the water from the melting ice running off the table, and a bottle of vodka two-thirds empty within easy reach. She slowly turns her head in my direction, and I think she sees me even though she does not acknowledge my presence.