Downsizing

The worst thing about being a person of good conscience is that the damn thing is the last to go. Long after honesty and loyalty have slunk away, conscience remains. Even after it has ceased to be even pathetic, and has become ridiculous, when the factory has closed its gates and the management has all left town, it walks the picket line. Conscience holds out until the very end, not even caring that no one cares. It is when one has finally quieted conscience, has choked the last squeak of it to silence and consigned it to some forgotten cellar, that one can breathe easily again. I learned this when my employer, Little Red Reader, Inc., was purchased by a giant publishing company.

On Monday morning we arrived to find that the supply cabinet was locked. This was the first act the new owners took, and we were both outraged and amused. What idiots! How did they think we could function without supplies? The news excited us. It represented a change in our routine. Instead of fishing among cardboard containers for ballpoint pens and felt-tipped markers, we hovered outside the locked door, amusing ourselves with our insight and our wit. As Department Manager, I was confused and irritated. There was no explanatory e-mail waiting in my inbox. Like everyone else in my department, I knew nothing. This annoyed me more than the inconvenience of the locked cabinet. The mood for the rest of the day was adventurous. We made do. We shared the supplies we had. We joked about our situation, and we felt a comradely sense of responsibility toward one another. That was the first day.

By Tuesday, the adventurous atmosphere had waned. People began hoarding supplies. The non-confrontational among us brought their own. The least confrontational among us brought their own, and then ended up giving them away, unable to resist the aggressive foraging of the assertive, who left each acquisition with a triumphant swagger, while their slump-shouldered prey sat with downcast eyes and hoped no one had witnessed their humiliation. By the end of the day, there was still no word on the supply situation. We knew something was up, and we suspected it wasn’t good. Conjecture whispered its way through the office. Were we being sold? Were we going to close?

On Wednesday, an e-mail summoned me to the director’s office. My face burned as I walked toward his door. My mouth went dry and the blood pounded in my ears, just as it had twenty years earlier, when I had climbed to the top of the high dive on a dare, and then found that I lacked the courage to jump. It was less of a jump than a fall, finally, three seconds with nothing but air and terror between me and the bright, cold water that slapped me senseless as I struck the surface. The same feeling of mindless terror gripped me, and I tried to concentrate on the sound of my shoes on the tile floor.

I tapped on the door, right below the nameplate with the name, J.H. Manning.

“Come in,” called the strong, confident voice from within. As I entered, Mr. Manning waved a hand toward the chair beside him. “Have a seat.” I sat down, crossed my legs, then uncrossed them. I realized I was clutching my hands together in front of me, so I willed myself to relax them in my lap. Perspiration oozed from my pores and I wondered briefly if that was what was meant by all the references I’d ever read about people smelling of fear. J.H. Manning wasn’t sweating.

“Karen, we want you to know that we appreciate your efforts. You have made a real contribution to the company, and we are aware of that.”
I nodded, but said nothing.

“There are going to be deep cuts in your department. Unfortunately, due to the reorganization, things are going to look very different.”

J.H. Manning slid a piece of paper toward me.
“We would like for you to stay with the company.” I picked up the paper.

“What is this?”
“It’s your new contract. Sign by the X’s and we’ll continue with the meeting.”

I skimmed the contract. The new agreement with the company required me to acknowledge that I was “employed at will,” and that my employment could be terminated at any time, with or without cause. I signed by the X’s and slid the paper back across the desk. J.H. Manning smiled.

“Good.” He picked up a second piece of paper and placed it before me. Ten names were on it, including mine. They were the names of all of the people in my department.

“Human Resources has indicated that your department will be synergized by 70%.” He pulled a couple of pens out of a cup with, “Little Red Reader,” and a picture of our mascot, an adorable, red fox reading a book, printed on it and handed one to me.

“What?”
“Seven of these people have to go. You’re staying. We need to select the other two.”

J.H. Manning tapped the third name on the list with the end of his pen.

“I assume you want to start with this one.” He was tapping the name, Brent Whitley. Brent was a pain in my rear. He arrived late. He left early. He slept at his desk. He came back from lunch reeking of gin and cigars. I had wished fervently for two years that Brent would quit, or be transferred, or be fired. I had consistently rated his performance “needs improvement,” but there he remained, in the cubicle next to mine. I felt a tingle of power. All I had to do was say the word, and Brent would be gone. I would never have to smell his gin and cigar aroma again.

“Yes.”
“Great.” Manning’s pen drew a firm, black line of ink through Brent’s name. Just like that, Brent Whitley became an ex-employee of Little Red Reader, Inc.

“Who’s next?” Manning asked, raising his eyebrows to an inquisitive angle above intensely blue eyes. I looked at the list. The obvious next selection would be Emma Parks. Emma was seventy years old. She could have retired years ago, when the whole department’s operations became computer based. Emma never learned the system. She just printed her messages and worked on them in hard copy form. She didn’t send e-mails. She made phone calls or left memos on people’s desks. But Emma was as sharp as they come, and she knew everything about everyone in the business. Nobody had contacts like Emma. I liked and respected her, and I didn’t want her to go. I looked at the list again.

Belinda Jackson. Belinda was our newest employee, a twenty-eight-year-old woman with a military husband deployed overseas. She had less seniority than anyone else. She also had two young children. Their sweet faces with big, bright eyes, graced a portrait on Belinda’s desk. I could fire their mommy. Manning watched me expectantly, pen poised and ready to draw another firm, black line.

Ralph Bostick. Ralph was a good employee, but not a great one. He was punctual and reliable. He was also diabetic. If I fired Ralph, his health insurance would disappear. James O’Donnell. Jim still had a daughter in college.
Daniel Hermann. Daniel was planning his wedding for the coming month. There was a set of baking dishes sitting, wrapped and ready, at my house, in preparation for his fiance’s shower.
Jennifer Williams. Jennifer and I went out for chocolate martinis every Friday after work.

Carla Lopez. Carla supported her elderly mother.
Andrew Ballantine. Andy was a great guy, the father of four, a scout leader, soccer coach, and devoted husband. Six more of them had to go.

I looked up at Manning. He still held the expectant expression, and his pen still hovered over the paper like a turkey buzzard waiting for fresh road kill. I cleared my throat and asked, “What do you think, Mr. Manning?”

“Please, Karen, call me Jeff. These are your staff. You know them better than anyone else. I wouldn’t presume to tell you who among them is most valuable.”
You bastard. You’re making me do the dirty work.

“Jeff, if we let Emma go, she’ll get full retirement, right?”
“Of course.”
“OK, then. Emma.”
Jeff’s pen struck Emma’s name from the list.

I heard myself say, “Belinda.” She was young, and her resume was strong. She could get another job.

“Daniel.” His fiancée, Sara, was a registered nurse. They had no children, and they would have income until Daniel found something else.

“Jim.” The daughter could take out another student loan. Anyway, I wasn’t responsible for her tuition, was I? Manning continued to draw the firm, black lines through the names.

“We’re making progress.” He smiled. “Who’s next?”
“Ralph.” With the reduction in staff I was taking, I couldn’t afford to keep Ralph on. He wasn’t productive enough. Manning smiled and nodded as he drew another firm, black line.

We were down to Andrew, Carla, and Jennifer. Andrew was the best of the three. That left Carla and Jennifer. Carla’s mother depended on her. Jennifer was my friend.

“Carla.” Manning drew a line through Carla’s name, dropped the pen, and leaned back in his chair.

“Great job, Karen. You’re decisive. I like that.”
“Jeff,” I asked. “How are we going to continue to edit the readers? I mean, with 70% of my staff gone?”

“We’re outsourcing that to India. The Indian division, which the parent company recently acquired, is far more cost effective per headcount.”

“Indian people will be editing reading books for American children,” I stated, rather than asked.

“Hey, they’re elementary readers. How hard can it be?” Manning locked his fingers behind his head and smiled at me. “You did a great job today, Karen. You’ll be getting more information about your new job description on Monday.” The downsizing will take place this afternoon. Remember, our conversation stays in this room.”

I walked back to my desk. Belinda tried to catch my eye, but I wouldn’t look at her. I sat down and stared at my computer. The screen was oddly blurred. I realized that was because of the tears welling up in my eyes. I got up and went to the restroom, where I leaned on a sink and met my gaze in the mirror. I didn’t like what I saw. Glancing at my watch, I saw with a rush of relief that it was already 11:50. It would be possible to swoop by my desk, grab my purse, and go to lunch before anyone could question me.

At five minutes after one, I was back at my desk, when Brent’s phone rang. I looked away when he passed me on his way to Jeff’s office. He never came back. Emma was next, then Ralph, then Belinda, then Jim. One by one, they took the long walk. Daniel had his belongings packed in a cardboard box before his phone rang. He took it with him on his way to Jeff’s office.

“Nice working with you,” he tossed out casually as he passed me. Carla sat hunched in her chair like a mouse fearing the shadow of a hungry owl. Her phone rang. She picked up her shoulder bag and walked quickly down the hall. In the end, she held her shoulders back and her head up. Andrew turned to me.

“Karen, should I pack my stuff?” he asked.
“No, you and Jennifer stay,” I answered. Jennifer looked at me. It was impossible to read her expression.

“You fired Carla, and kept me.”
“You’re my friend.” Even as I said it, I knew it was no longer true.
*********

At six-forty-five on Friday evening, I sat at the bar and sipped my chocolate martini. Jeff was drinking whiskey, straight up.

“So,” he said brightly, “since Jennifer quit and we were able to hire Kyle at a lower salary, our numbers are looking even better than expected.” I took another sip and looked at him over the rim of my glass.

“Jeff, you are, without a doubt, one of the most cold and heartless people I know.”

“Thanks.” He raised his glass and returned the compliment. “Same to you.”