Sacrifice
Andrew Dugas
Jack comes back from lunch a little late. A few of his co-workers – Hassan the network techie, Peter the marketing guy, Carrie the sales assistant – are gathered around the reception desk. Beth the receptionist is answering the phone, speaking into the headset that clings to the side of her head like an insect. The company logo – a stylized Aztec pyramid – looms from the wall behind her.
They all look at him, then collectively relax. It’s okay, it’s just Jack the tech writer.
"I'm telling you," Hassan glances around before continuing.
"They're going to lay off a bunch of people in the morning. The meeting will be a pep rally for the survivors. I've seen it before."
"What's going on?" Jack whispers. The building tension of the last few weeks is finally rippling the surface. He is scared but excited, too.
"Didn't you get the email?" Peter says. He has dark circles under his eyes. "Big company meeting tomorrow afternoon. Everyone is freaking out."
Carrie shakes her head; an unruly red tendril of hair springs loose from the clasp behind her neck. "I don't understand. I heard the next round of funding came through okay." She looks at Jack as if he might have some insight to offer.
"That's just it." Hassan snaps, frustrated at their inability to grasp the obvious. "The funding came with a price tag. They need to sacrifice some of us, reduce the head count." He draws his finger across his throat. "It's the classic pattern. The announcement of a meeting, the job cuts, and the pep rally."
Jack looks at Beth. "Do you know what's going on? You know everything that goes on here."
She shrugs, her mouth locked in its permanent pout, and presses some buttons. "TikalTop Software... one moment please. I know as much as you guys. TikalTop Software... one moment please. Ask Cooper." Cooper is Jack's boss.
Beth looks around, then says in a low voice. "I will tell you this much. A bunch of the board members have been meeting the last couple of days. On the third floor. TikalTop Software... one moment please." The third floor - the top floor – is unused, awaiting the expansion that never came, a place of dark empty cubicles, scattered chairs, and last-resort conference rooms. The third floor is secrecy and mystery and everybody getting screwed.
The session breaks up and Jack hustles back to his desk. He steps lively. Not the best day to take a long lunch, he realizes. If layoffs are coming, he wants to look busy. A productive and valuable asset.
Now that the L-word has been spoken out loud, the inevitable is imminent. And unsurprising. Layoffs are happening across the high-tech sector and TikalTop, a company with zero sales, cannot expect to be spared.
TikalTop markets a software product (DataGlommer™) that, using complex algorithms and dynamic consumer behavior models, enables internet "e-tailers" to identify both explicit and implicit purchasing patterns, thereby empowering them to better target marketing and sales promotions.
Industry analysts hailed the product as the herald of a new age. The renowned Grattan Group lauded DataGlommer™ as "head-and-shoulders above any other integrative consumer purchasing patterns analysis and data mining tools on the market today". Still others noted that such emergent technology made possible, if not inevitable, revolutionary and lucrative gains in sales revenue and overall productivity.
And yet, somehow, DataGlommer™ had failed to excite. The fact that other, competing integrative consumer purchasing patterns analysis and data mining tools were also failing to excite provided little consolation.
Of course TikalTop made some sales, which were wildly celebrated at the time with champagne and live music and ice sculptures. But the clients, mostly "e-tailers" like MittensOnline.com and OfficeCloset, went belly up themselves in the last few months.
The fatal blow, however, the twist of the knife, came three weeks ago. They had been in talks with a major manufacturer that wanted to OEM their product across multiple sectors, horizontal and vertical. These talks generated buzz that TikalTop might even be acquired by yet another giant corporation, and everyone went back to counting their stock options.
But the major manufacturer, alarmed at a suddenly sinking economy, decided instead to hold off on any new IT investments.
No sooner was the deal pronounced dead, Steve the visionary founder and CEO disappeared. He just wasn’t there any more, and no longer did the corridors ring with his loud exhortations of excellence, quality, and revolution. A brief email memo stated that he had decided to pursue other opportunities, and that the board had appointed a new CEO, Tom Hacker, to carry the company into the next phase. The memo did not elaborate what that next phase might be.
Jumping on the Internet, it took employees about forty-seconds to determine that Hacker was very appropriately named. His career was built on coming into failing companies, "restructuring" resources and then selling off any proprietary technology to recoup as much investment capital as possible. Restructuring resources meaning layoffs.
That was three weeks ago. And counting.
Mid-afternoon, Cooper passes by Jack’s cubicle. He and Jack lock eyes, but nothing is said. Cooper just nods, scratching his neck and smiling the wide Cooper smile. A taut smile today, the skin crinkling around his eyes. For the first time, Jack notices that Cooper’s chestnut goatee is shot with gray.
Jack finally nods back and Cooper continues on his way.
Jack spends the rest of the afternoon updating his resume and scanning job listings on the Internet. He and Carrie do not go out for their customary latte.
* * * * * * * * * * *
When Jack comes in the next morning, it’s already begun.
When the elevator doors open, Peter the marketing guy is standing there with a file box in his hands. Jack recognizes the framed pictures of Peter’s wife and kids, extra workout clothes and sneakers, his guerrilla marketing books – hardly enough to fill the box. Peter is flanked by two security guards that Jack as never seen before.
Peter looks into his eyes and shrugs. "I’ll see you when I see you."
The guards escort Peter into the elevator. The reception area is empty. Two fat stacks of folded file boxes, still in their shrink-wrap, lean against the wall behind Beth’s chair. Is it still Beth’s chair? Jack wonders. He thinks about Beth's mouth and remembers slow dancing with her at the last holiday party.
En route to his cubicle, he sees two more marketing people with boxes and security guard escorts. It is weirdly quiet and empty and dim; only half the lights are on. He has a bright and colorful memory of the office back when they were changing the world and on the verge of instant, untold wealth. Were these the same amber and burgundy aisles where they played bocce or kicked around the hacky sack to break the tension of those long workdays?
He remembers the his first Friday working at TikalTop. Around four-thirty, Steve came in with a bunch of the managers, hauling coolers full of beer and calling the workers out of their cubicles. For Jack, who had just come from a staid and traditional "Old Economy" company, it seemed so wrong and liberating at the same time. Workers sucking down bottles of beer? Mingling outside their cubicles? Laughing and joking? Viva la Revolucion!
Jack boots up his computer and logs on. He discovers that both email and the Internet connection are down. Of course, they are cut off from the world. He sees Hassan the network techie and calls him over, using the down email as a pretext.
"How bad is it?"
Hassan hisses, "It’s pretty bloody. Most of marketing, so far. Management is getting cleaned out across the board. Jake is gone."
"Which Jake? Jake in Sales or Jake in QA?"
"QA Jake, but I think Sales Jake is gone too."
Carrie the sales assistant pops her head in and confirms. "Sales Jake is gone. I think only Sandy is left in QA."
"What’s with the security guards?"
Hassan shrugs. "Rent-a-cops. I guess they’re worried about people reacting adversely to the situation."
"How are they doing it?"
"They call you into HR with your manager and – "
Kathleen from HR suddenly materializes behind Hassan. "Come on, guys, can we kill the chitchat here? It’s bad enough without you guys gossiping and talking it up. Just sit tight until it’s all over."
Hassan and Carrie begin to disperse when Kathleen says, "Carrie, can I see you for a second?"
Carrie’s features drop and for a moment she is blank, like someone choking on food and trying to speak. She looks to Jack and a single wet track jumps from her left eye. Kathleen puts a gentle arm around her shoulder and leads her away.
So that’s how it happens.
Jack gulps back against a sudden wave of nausea - he has always liked Carrie and suspects she has a crush on him. On Friday evenings at the brew pub, she always seats herself next to or across from Jack, smiling and laughing, her curly red hair jumping from her head like broken springs. He has often thought about asking her out, but always puts it off for one or more reasons. They work together. She isn't his type. There are always other, more direct girls asserting themselves in his path.
Now he wonders if he's missed some sort of chance. His chance at what? Is this really the time for romantic speculation? What is he thinking? What if he gets cut, too? He owes a couple of thousand on his credit card and is only a few months into a three-year car lease, a Honda.
He understands why she was fired - she was a sales assistant and in the new lean-and-mean world order, there will be no such luxuries for the sales staff, for the survivors. Carrie aspired to sales but was too sweet, she'd never have made it anyway. She doesn’t have the requisite cutthroat mentality.
Half unconsciously, Jack positions himself between Sales and the reception area. After a few moments, Carrie turns the corner, eyes red from tears, carrying the all-too-familiar cardboard file box with her things. Her Teddy Bear is riding high in the box, seemingly unperturbed by the events of the day. Two of the rent-a-cops follow closely on her heels.
She smiles weakly, her mouth puffy and loose. Jack finds himself strangely aroused. He wants to hold her so she can cry and feel better. He wants to kiss that loose mouth until it returns to the happy laughing mouth he remembers.
"I'm sorry," he blurts out. What can one say?
She nods.
"Listen, can I get your number? I mean, I - "
Before Jack can finish, Carrie's right hand shoots out from beneath the box and thrusts her card into Jack’s hand. Her phone number is scrawled on the back; it’s the first time he has seen her handwriting.
One of the rent-a-cops clears his throat. Carrie rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Well, I guess I'll be going..." Her head darts and she kisses Jack on the cheek. And then she is gone.
Jack is still standing there, stroking his cheek, when Kathleen taps him on the shoulder. "Jack, can I see you a second?"
Cooper is waiting at a small round table in Kathleen's office. He blurts out. "I am terribly, terribly sorry."
Jack pulls out a chair and sits. He remembers sitting at this same table when he was hired, filling out a bunch of forms and joking with Kathleen, who was older and flirty in an untouchable way.
"We're terribly sorry." Kathleen adds that she is being let go, too, that processing the layoff is her last duty. Jack is unsympathetic.
It doesn't take long. By now they have the routine down.
Severance pay, one week for every six months of employment.
Medical and Dental through the end of the month, COBRA forms for optional coverage after that. Unemployment insurance information, a list of numbers. Another sheet with job and employment resources. 401k rollover forms. All in a thick cream-colored folder.
And of course, the empty file box. The thick folder is the first thing to go in. Jack cannot help but notice the stack of cream-colored folder s remaining on Kathleen's desk.
Sign here and here and just once more here.
Time to clean out the cubicle. The guards will assist you.
It takes Jack all of five minutes to gather his things: a few printouts of manuals he wrote, some books on HTML and Java, his ergonomic mouse pad with the foam wrist support, and a ball you squeeze to relieve tension, the TikalTop logo faded and rubbed away.
Like him, the rest is bound for the recycling bin.
The guards escort him to the parking level of the building, staying in the elevator for the return trip. The doors close and he is alone. Somewhere, car tires shriek and resonate throughout the concrete structure. Jack wonders where he parked his car, then remembers he took the bus. He heads for the street exit over by the dumpsters.
He pauses at the door and – after making sure that Carrie's card is still in his shirt pocket – launches the file box, cream-colored folder and all, into the trash. It booms like a kettle drum.
Then he pushes open the steel door and climbs up into the morning light.
 Loafer's #11, El Nino Winter/Spring 1998
Peter Schilling's baseball Loafitorial (a prelude to Mudville?); Letters from Lauren Leavitt, Dead Ringer, Aunt Shari, Eric Clason, Fred Urshgur, Todd Clason, Virginia Lund and finally, one fake name, Cuthbert Urshgur, Auctioneer and Watch Repairman; Sherrod loves her apartment; what Betsy Osborn read in 1997; Peter Schilling the Elder finally writes a story about "Midway"; great pasta recipes by Janice Rideout; Stimpy drawings by John Schilling; Karin Fodness finally writes about Social Work; Dead Ringer on pulling the watch from Christopher Walken's ass; a non-fiction essay on Bthetanin by Lauren Leavitt; Steve Willis gets mired in the "Great McCleary Election of 1997"; tribute to Frank, by Marilee; Confessions of an Urshgur; John Lund asks: "Why Christianity", but doesn't ask, "Why Cream of Mushroom Soup?"; art by John S. and Steve W. Front cover by Steve Willis (original now on loan to the Smithsonian).
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