A paper weight with no papers underneath sat on Shannon Barkley’s desk. It was a turtle. A turtle with a fish in its mouth. Some spiritual symbol, she was told. A pen set sat next to the turtle. Other than those items, the desk was bare. A slick mahogany top reflected the light of a dim overhead lamp. Shannon’s legs sported a rash of goose bumps beneath a pair of business suit slacks. A cover in the front of this desk would be nice, she thought. Maybe tomorrow I’ll bring in my floor heater.
She had always been told that floor heaters were fire hazards, but she didn’t care. The cold deems it necessary. She turned and gazed at a cheap calendar sporting a tropical beach scene hanging from a thumbtack on the wall to her left. December 4th. Twenty-one days till Christmas.
She adjusted her glasses and pulled out a bottle of water from her bag lying next to her feet on the floor. She took a drink and screwed the cap back on. The bottle went next to the turtle paper weight making the item count on her desk three.
Her watch read 7:59 and she shook her head. Time always goes fast when you don’t want it to. A knock on her door immediately followed that thought. “Come in,” she said.
The door opened. A young man who looked fifteen, but was really twenty-six, walked in with one sheet of double bonded paper between his right thumb and forefinger. Without saying a word, he placed the sheet on the desk in front of Shannon. He nodded. Shannon put her hand up as if to thank him as well as to simultaneously shoo him away. The young man turned and walked out the door without acknowledging her.
A list of ten names stared up at her from the paper. She scanned the names and sighed, while rubbing her temples. Exhaling a couple of more times, she stood up and took her coat from hanger in the corner of her office and put it on. She jammed her hands in the coat pockets, feeling for the box of cigarettes and the lighter. After locating both, she closed her eyes for a moment. Then she walked out of her office shutting the door.
On her way to the building’s exit, the secretary, a fat middle aged man wearing a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, stopped her.
“Where ya going?”
Shannon’s voice was monotone. “I left something in my car,” she replied.
The secretary furrowed his brow. “Do you leave something in your car every day?” he asked.
“I’m forgetful,” she replied as she walked past him without looking back. The phone on the secretary’s desk rang and he answered it, feigning an enthusiastic tone.
The cold wind hit her face as she exited the building. A dark sky loomed over her with the vague promise that it would produce a hazy shade of gray in about an hour. She shivered as she approached her car, a red Acura. A fresh scratch made by the jagged edge of a key ran horizontally across the driver’s door.
She got in the car and turned the key in the ignition.
Two and half minutes later she pulled into a vacant parking lot adjacent to a vacant office building. Two signs with phone numbers decorated the building. They both read:
FOR LEASE
She got out of the car and produced the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. The car continued to run. She popped a cigarette in her mouth and flicked the lighter. While hunching over and turning her back to the wind, she lit the cigarette. She inhaled and the stale smoke entered her lungs. After a couple of more drags, she closed her eyes and felt a rush of endorphins flood her head. The fire continued to burn the tobacco as she strolled around the parking lot.
After five minutes, her cigarette was at its end and her cheeks were red. Her teeth rattled together. Her thoughts centered on the cold. The car heater would feel extra good now that it had warmed up.
She had the car door halfway open when the first name on the list flashed in her mind’s eye. Gary Rader. She climbed in the car and shut the door. She reached under the seat. The cold bottle stung her hand for a moment and then she gripped it. The golden rum sloshed back and forth in the bottle as she screwed off the cap.
She kept the bottle of rum in one hand and flipped the latch of the glove compartment with the other. Inside was an assortment of scrunched up pieces of paper. Sitting with the mess was different bottle: a small orange one that had been filled by a pharmacist. She put the bottle of rum between her legs and squeezed it with her thighs. She then opened the prescription bottle and placed two small yellow pills on her tongue.
When she had capped the prescription bottle, she threw it back into the glove compartment and snapped it shut.
Her cell phone rang. No ring tone. Just two impersonal beeps. Grimacing, she dry swallowed the yellow tablets and opened the phone. “Human Resources, this is Shannon,” she answered.
“Shannon, where the hell are you?” demanded the man on the other end.
“I had to run a quick errand.”
The man laughed. “Are you ready to wield the ax?”
“Of course I am,” said Shannon. “What kind of question is that?” Her voice was sharp and strong.
“You get back here or I’ll fire you,” he said.
“You don’t have the balls to do that,” replied Shannon. “That’s why you hired me. Because you don’t have the balls.”
The man on the other end laughed. “I guess you’re right. I guess you have the best job security out of anyone in the company.”
“Well, that’s stating the obvious,” said Shannon grinning. She snapped the phone shut. Always have the last word and make it strong, she thought.
She burst into tears.
Gary Rader. Single father. Two kids.
She unscrewed the bottle of rum, put it to her lips and tilted her head backward. The bitter taste caused her to pause before swallowing hard. She put the cap back on and placed it back underneath the seat. A couple of snow flurries blew past her windshield. She put the car in gear and turned on the windshield wipers as well as the radio.
A deep voice from the radio sounded throughout the car. “While the unemployment rate stands at ten percent in the U.S., the Obama administration remains optimistic citing fewer jobs were lost in the month of November than expected,” it said.
She twisted the knob of the radio back off, reached for the bottle of rum underneath the seat and took another drink as she changed lanes.
When she pulled the red Acura back into the company lot, she went for the glove compartment one more time. The orange prescription bottle went into the left pocket of her slacks. A breath mint went into her mouth. Eye drops went into her eyes. Fresh makeup went on her face. And then she headed toward the building.
Gary Rader was waiting. He was thin, balding and sported grayish stubble on his face. He stood next to the stenciled letters on her door that read:
SHANNON BARKLEY
HUMAN RESOURCES
She squinted at him. His eyes were wide. His hands were behind his back. And his mouth turned upward in a nervous grin.
Shannon answered his grin with a frown. “Come in,” she said.
They walked into the office. “Have a seat,” said Shannon, as she sat down behind her desk. He took the lone chair sitting in front of her.
She never took her eyes off of Gary Rader. “Mr. Rader,” she said. “I’ll get right to the point.”
Gary Rader’s face dropped and his shoulders sagged.
“We’re going to let you go,” said Shannon. “Management wants you gone for good by the end of the day. Your production has been down.” Her words flew out of her mouth like machine gun bullets.
Gary Rader sat motionless. His head was still down, avoiding eye contact with her.
Shannon continued to squint.
“Thank you,” said Rader. “I knew it was coming. You always know it’s coming when they schedule a meeting with you.”
“That’s right,” said Shannon. “Have a nice day.”
“Can I count on a recommendation?” asked Rader.
“Send Mr. Gage a request by mail,” replied Shannon. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“Of course,” said Rader.
He turned around and exited the office.
When the door closed and Rader’s silhouette was out of sight, Shannon laid her head on the desk. Tears welled in her eyes and she fought them off. One down, nine to go. The next name on the list was Ben Natus. Better get yourself together, she thought. Ben Natus will be coming soon.
The pills rattled in her pocket as she shifted her legs. She took the orange bottle out, popped off the white cap and eyed the bottle of water sitting next to the turtle on her desk. She placed the pill on her tongue and took a long drink.
She had always been told that floor heaters were fire hazards, but she didn’t care. The cold deems it necessary. She turned and gazed at a cheap calendar sporting a tropical beach scene hanging from a thumbtack on the wall to her left. December 4th. Twenty-one days till Christmas.
She adjusted her glasses and pulled out a bottle of water from her bag lying next to her feet on the floor. She took a drink and screwed the cap back on. The bottle went next to the turtle paper weight making the item count on her desk three.
Her watch read 7:59 and she shook her head. Time always goes fast when you don’t want it to. A knock on her door immediately followed that thought. “Come in,” she said.
The door opened. A young man who looked fifteen, but was really twenty-six, walked in with one sheet of double bonded paper between his right thumb and forefinger. Without saying a word, he placed the sheet on the desk in front of Shannon. He nodded. Shannon put her hand up as if to thank him as well as to simultaneously shoo him away. The young man turned and walked out the door without acknowledging her.
A list of ten names stared up at her from the paper. She scanned the names and sighed, while rubbing her temples. Exhaling a couple of more times, she stood up and took her coat from hanger in the corner of her office and put it on. She jammed her hands in the coat pockets, feeling for the box of cigarettes and the lighter. After locating both, she closed her eyes for a moment. Then she walked out of her office shutting the door.
On her way to the building’s exit, the secretary, a fat middle aged man wearing a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, stopped her.
“Where ya going?”
Shannon’s voice was monotone. “I left something in my car,” she replied.
The secretary furrowed his brow. “Do you leave something in your car every day?” he asked.
“I’m forgetful,” she replied as she walked past him without looking back. The phone on the secretary’s desk rang and he answered it, feigning an enthusiastic tone.
The cold wind hit her face as she exited the building. A dark sky loomed over her with the vague promise that it would produce a hazy shade of gray in about an hour. She shivered as she approached her car, a red Acura. A fresh scratch made by the jagged edge of a key ran horizontally across the driver’s door.
She got in the car and turned the key in the ignition.
Two and half minutes later she pulled into a vacant parking lot adjacent to a vacant office building. Two signs with phone numbers decorated the building. They both read:
FOR LEASE
She got out of the car and produced the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. The car continued to run. She popped a cigarette in her mouth and flicked the lighter. While hunching over and turning her back to the wind, she lit the cigarette. She inhaled and the stale smoke entered her lungs. After a couple of more drags, she closed her eyes and felt a rush of endorphins flood her head. The fire continued to burn the tobacco as she strolled around the parking lot.
After five minutes, her cigarette was at its end and her cheeks were red. Her teeth rattled together. Her thoughts centered on the cold. The car heater would feel extra good now that it had warmed up.
She had the car door halfway open when the first name on the list flashed in her mind’s eye. Gary Rader. She climbed in the car and shut the door. She reached under the seat. The cold bottle stung her hand for a moment and then she gripped it. The golden rum sloshed back and forth in the bottle as she screwed off the cap.
She kept the bottle of rum in one hand and flipped the latch of the glove compartment with the other. Inside was an assortment of scrunched up pieces of paper. Sitting with the mess was different bottle: a small orange one that had been filled by a pharmacist. She put the bottle of rum between her legs and squeezed it with her thighs. She then opened the prescription bottle and placed two small yellow pills on her tongue.
When she had capped the prescription bottle, she threw it back into the glove compartment and snapped it shut.
Her cell phone rang. No ring tone. Just two impersonal beeps. Grimacing, she dry swallowed the yellow tablets and opened the phone. “Human Resources, this is Shannon,” she answered.
“Shannon, where the hell are you?” demanded the man on the other end.
“I had to run a quick errand.”
The man laughed. “Are you ready to wield the ax?”
“Of course I am,” said Shannon. “What kind of question is that?” Her voice was sharp and strong.
“You get back here or I’ll fire you,” he said.
“You don’t have the balls to do that,” replied Shannon. “That’s why you hired me. Because you don’t have the balls.”
The man on the other end laughed. “I guess you’re right. I guess you have the best job security out of anyone in the company.”
“Well, that’s stating the obvious,” said Shannon grinning. She snapped the phone shut. Always have the last word and make it strong, she thought.
She burst into tears.
Gary Rader. Single father. Two kids.
She unscrewed the bottle of rum, put it to her lips and tilted her head backward. The bitter taste caused her to pause before swallowing hard. She put the cap back on and placed it back underneath the seat. A couple of snow flurries blew past her windshield. She put the car in gear and turned on the windshield wipers as well as the radio.
A deep voice from the radio sounded throughout the car. “While the unemployment rate stands at ten percent in the U.S., the Obama administration remains optimistic citing fewer jobs were lost in the month of November than expected,” it said.
She twisted the knob of the radio back off, reached for the bottle of rum underneath the seat and took another drink as she changed lanes.
When she pulled the red Acura back into the company lot, she went for the glove compartment one more time. The orange prescription bottle went into the left pocket of her slacks. A breath mint went into her mouth. Eye drops went into her eyes. Fresh makeup went on her face. And then she headed toward the building.
Gary Rader was waiting. He was thin, balding and sported grayish stubble on his face. He stood next to the stenciled letters on her door that read:
SHANNON BARKLEY
HUMAN RESOURCES
She squinted at him. His eyes were wide. His hands were behind his back. And his mouth turned upward in a nervous grin.
Shannon answered his grin with a frown. “Come in,” she said.
They walked into the office. “Have a seat,” said Shannon, as she sat down behind her desk. He took the lone chair sitting in front of her.
She never took her eyes off of Gary Rader. “Mr. Rader,” she said. “I’ll get right to the point.”
Gary Rader’s face dropped and his shoulders sagged.
“We’re going to let you go,” said Shannon. “Management wants you gone for good by the end of the day. Your production has been down.” Her words flew out of her mouth like machine gun bullets.
Gary Rader sat motionless. His head was still down, avoiding eye contact with her.
Shannon continued to squint.
“Thank you,” said Rader. “I knew it was coming. You always know it’s coming when they schedule a meeting with you.”
“That’s right,” said Shannon. “Have a nice day.”
“Can I count on a recommendation?” asked Rader.
“Send Mr. Gage a request by mail,” replied Shannon. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“Of course,” said Rader.
He turned around and exited the office.
When the door closed and Rader’s silhouette was out of sight, Shannon laid her head on the desk. Tears welled in her eyes and she fought them off. One down, nine to go. The next name on the list was Ben Natus. Better get yourself together, she thought. Ben Natus will be coming soon.
The pills rattled in her pocket as she shifted her legs. She took the orange bottle out, popped off the white cap and eyed the bottle of water sitting next to the turtle on her desk. She placed the pill on her tongue and took a long drink.
