That’s when I noticed the check on the table written out to me for five thousand lousy dollars. I asked the hovering waiter for his pen and full name and then endorsed the check over to him.
“Better cash that now before he cancels payment,” I instructed as I handed the man the check.
I went out the front entrance, passed the idling sedan where Hector sat behind the dark glass, and grabbed the first available taxi for the long and expensive trip back to Eagle Rock.
HOGTIED
Pat Faber set up a six-thirty touch base on Monday morning as a not-so-subtle reminder that he was still in charge. Normally, calling in was accepted for any meeting starting before 8 a.m., but with a touch base you had to do it in person.
Touch base meetings where people just talked to each other were the darlings of the corporate world. For managers, it was tangible proof that associate feedback was important to them. For associates, it was the opportunity to talk about your accomplishments and hint at the need for a salary increase, something your manager never truly acknowledged and certainly never did anything about.
I always followed a standard approach. I would come with a list of three topics. Never more than three because that would overwhelm Pat, and when that happened he assumed that the person overwhelming him had a communication problem. At the end of my agenda of three I would always drop, “…and one thing I need your advice on.” Pat relished the opportunity to pass along wisdom, so I would quickly roll through my three items, always presenting the challenge first and then how I overcame it. We’d then spend the remaining twenty minutes of the thirty-minute touch base going over the issue I needed help on. To be sure, the issue was never a real one and if it was, I already knew the answer. But to Pat, it was portrayed as something I really struggled with. The value of the touch base was measured by the amount of time Pat talked. Sometimes he’d speak for the entire meeting and when it was time to leave, he was so energized that he’d show me to the door and with a slap on the back he’d say, “We need to do these more often.”
That’s how I kept off management’s radar. But on this particular Monday morning, I flirted with danger. Distracted by my work outside the office, irritated that I had to drag myself into work on a Monday just as the sun was creeping over the horizon, pissed off that they had yet to replace the half-and-half in the break room, I walked into Pat’s office without an agenda.
“Whatcha got for me, Chuck?” Pat chirped a level or two louder than was needed in the empty offices.
“What a week,” I stumbled. “I’m barely keeping my head above water.”
Pat nodded but he didn’t like it. “Busy” was an acceptable reply in elevator banter but not in a touch base.
“Well, that’s why they pay us,” he reminded me.
We bandied about a couple of things I was working on but we never quite got into a good rhythm. I was distracted and my words showed it. Pat grew frustrated and decided to take the lead.
“What do you think of this whole obesity thing?” he asked casually. I was taken aback. All along I never felt my co-manager Paul’s relentless focus on eradicating obesity from the firm ever garnered much support but here was Pat taking up the mantle. He either believed in the cause or it was just a ploy to stir the pot holding the two people about to duke it out for head of the group. “The health costs are becoming prohibitive,” he added. “We really need to help these poor people.”
Now I was nervous. Pat was quoting verbatim from Paul’s messaging plan. When you can get someone to repeat what you say, you have won the game. I knew not to dismiss Paul’s idea outright — that would never be received well, even if the receiver was not a fan of it. I had to tread carefully.
“It’s a real concern,” I started solemnly. “It’s something that’s going to take the full attention and resources of our group.”
I foolishly hoped that would be enough. It wasn’t.
“So what would you do?” he asked straight out.
“There’s no silver bullet solution,” I began tentatively, “but more a series of smaller efforts and initiatives.” I babbled on like this for a minute plus which must have felt like twenty. It was all empty jargon, and Pat wasn’t buying a word of it. “Anyway, it’s something I’d need to get my head around and put out a recommendation, or something.”
I had flown under the radar in enemy territory for a long time but it felt like I was about to be discovered. My reputation was built on being an innovator but the truth was I hadn’t had a fresh idea in over ten years, ever since I invented the Stoplight System for dealing with sexual harassment. And no one seemed to notice or care as long as I played along and talked a good game. The real concern wasn’t that I had no ideas, it was that management would figure it all out. But reputations, once built, are very hard to undo. Thankfully, no one ever looked that closely.
“Chuck, you haven’t had a fresh idea in ten years.”
My heart skipped.
“If you’re going to take this group to the place it needs to be, you’re going to have to bring a new perspective, a new vision.” The lecture that ensued was as direct a dressing-down as the corporate world ever saw. They were very rare, and that did not bode well for me.
“You’re right,” I mustered like an already defeated man.
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
“Nothing for me?” he asked like the seventh kid after a six pack of sodas has been passed out.
“No,” I answered, though I wished I did have something. “Not this week.”
“Thank you, Chuck,” he dismissed without getting up.
I scurried out of his office before anything more was said and nearly ran over Paul on his way in.
“Hey, Chuck,” he smiled. “Little touch base with the boss?”
“Yeah, we just wrapped up.”
“Did you touch them all?” he laughed at the same joke he’d been telling for fifteen years.
“Yes, Paul, I touched them all.”
“Hey Chuck,” came the earnest voice, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about all this…craziness. I just want to say ahead of time that there are no hard feelings.” Why would there be any, I thought to myself. “No matter how this turns out, whether it’s you running the group or me, I’m going to be happy. Because at the end of the day, it’s the group that matters, and with you or me at the helm it’s going to be a huge success.”
It was a terrific speech, and I didn’t believe a word of it.
“Paul, thank you for those kind words. You have to know that I feel the same thing about you. And if put to a choice,” I said placing a hand on his shoulder and mustering up the same level of unctuousness to match his, “I think you are the better man for the job.”
“I believe you, Chuck, when you say it.” The bastard somehow got a tear in his eye. I could compete with Paul on many things but false sincerity was not one of them. If he went in for hug I might have punched him.
“There are my boys,” Pat smiled, watching over the proceedings like a spectator with a fistful of crumpled bills. “Sizing up the competition, are you?”
Paul and I played it off like good sportsmen do, but I resented the cockfight element of it and the way Pat stood over us with that glib smile at his “boys” who were about to be pitted against each other for a fight for their corporate lives.
Pat never had to fight for anything and was kept around for fear of an ageism lawsuit. And still he clung on despite the firm stripping him of any kind of responsibility. I hated that old man because he was a dithering fool who believed the opposite. I hated him because he made it and men like my old boss, Bob Gershon, didn’t. I hated him because this was the man who controlled my destiny. And it was at that very moment that I decided I actually wanted the job.