pink slip laid off reorganized re-org’d axed downsized booted right-sized
dismissed canned thrown out let go terminated given notice ‘termed walking papers
All these expressions tossed in the minds of the little group gathered in the conference room that day at Miraculous Technology. The words bounced around like ping pong balls in their heads, but truly all they really heard were the very clear and simple words of their CEO, Henry Kimball…
“She’s got to go.”
Kimball said it without emotion, without feeling, without looking at any one of the four individuals seated at the gleaming walnut conference table.
Then he got up and walked out.
The little group looked at each other. They looked down at the floor. They blinked. Jim Spencer, the VP of Operations, coughed dryly. Margaret Thomas, the CFO, sipped at an empty cup of coffee. Robert Tims, the top sales guy, ran his fingers through his hair, then checked to see if any of the gel he had applied that morning had stuck to his fingers. And Virginia ‘Ginny’ Morris, the VP of Human Resources grabbed one of the chocolate donuts Kimball had brought in for the meeting. They looked at each other again. Then looked away.
They all knew who she was. The only question was who was going to do it. No one wanted to do it. No one wanted to say it.
“Sounds like an HR thing to me,” commented Spencer, eyeing Ginny Morris. Spencer had come over to Miraculous from the steel industry. He liked to think, as he often said, that he was ‘all business’.
“HR? It’s not my decision,” Ginny retorted, tearing off a chunk of donut. The HR-VP was younger than the rest of them, and pretty too, which they resented, except for Tims. Unlike the others, she had an advanced degree, an MBA from an institution that existed only in cyberspace. She had discharged employees before, but it had always been for something obvious like stealing or gross absenteeism, in other words, for cause, so it had been fairly painless. But this was different.
“We need a reason, or something,” complained Tims, picking at his nails. He had never had any career except sales. He had sold cars, carpeting, pharmaceuticals, and swimming pools, but the Vice President -Sales had never really had any direct reports except other salesmen. And to meet that responsibility, Tims just yelled at them. “How about the financials?” he said to Margaret Thomas, the finance guru.
“What about them?” she grumbled. The CFO didn’t like being on the Executive Team or, rather, she didn’t like anyone else being on the Team except her and Mr. Kimball. She figured all that the CEO or anyone else needed to know about Miraculous Technology was laid out nicely in the spreadsheets she managed.
“Maybe some kind of justifica…”
“It’s not there. There’s nothing in the financials. You want me to make something up?” she demanded. Tims grimaced.
“Well, we have before,” countered Spencer. He liked to think he was The Leader when Kimball was away. He was in fact older than the others, but no one really paid much attention to him.
“That’s the way Hank wanted it done,” Margaret retorted. This silenced them. She was the only one who called Kimball by his nickname. They went back a long ways.
But they all understood why she had to go: Mr. Kimball said so. It was time to shake things up, according to the CEO. ‘Time for some changes, he declared. ‘Time for some new thinking, he intoned. Then, he had been preaching something about ‘Good to Great’ or ‘Great to Good’ or ‘Average to Better to Fabulous,’ or ‘Worse to Better,’ or whatever, ever since the last management retreat. No one quite understood it. But they knew Maryanne Nelson, head of Marketing, had to go, and she was conveniently home sick today with a stuffy head. They could hatch their little plot unnoticed.
“Got … to … go,” Ginny Morris mumbled with a mouth half full of donut, like she was afraid to say it clearly. No matter how much she ate, it didn’t affect her youthful figure. A few years, a few more donuts will change that, Margaret Thomas reflected.
“Tims? How about you?” Spencer asked. “Marketing is part of Sales, right?”
“Could be, but it ain’t,” he replied. “Besides she’s been here a lot longer than me. It would look weird.” Maryanne Nelson had, in fact, been at Miraculous Technology longer than most anyone except Kimball himself. Tims thought about the words he might use to give Maryanne the bad news. He ran his fingers through his hair again as if he might find the words there. He didn’t. Tims was more comfortable pitching a million dollar sale to a customer. That he could control. There people would listen. But this was different.
“Well, it needs to be soon,” Spencer explained. They all looked out the window of the conference room at the manicured lawn of their corporate campus. They wondered who would fire Maryanne, but what they really wondered was why Kimball wouldn’t do it himself. “Mr. Kimball…”
“We heard him,” Margaret Thomas snapped. They all rose awkwardly and left the room. No one worked late that day. The weather was nice. They went home to their families, their golf, their drinks, their dinners, their TV – but they didn’t sleep well.
The next day each member of the Executive Team tried to stay busy or look busy. They avoided each other. They avoided Maryanne Nelson, who returned to work that day, feeling better. Spencer dove into some paperwork and thought about running his own company. ‘Something about management coaching would be good, he dreamed. Ginny Morris spent a few minutes reviewing the new company drug policy, and the rest of the morning shopping online at Nordstrom.com. Margaret Thomas totted up the revenue, and then made appointments to get her hair and nails done, even her toenails. Tims scheduled a sales call for later that day, and spent the rest of the morning flirting with the women in the call center.
Kimball finally showed up about eleven. He strolled from office to office, glaring at his department heads with a sullen leer. Margaret Thomas exclaimed, “We’re gonna make target!” Spencer announced, “The new production line is firing on all cylinders!” Tims said “I’m meeting today with that big account!” And Ginny Morris reported dutifully the new drug policy looked “Bullet proof.”
The CEO answered them with a stony silence. He just looked at them hard, with a smirk thrown in. They all either looked down at their feet or stared at him blankly. When he saw Maryanne Nelson in the hallway later that morning, he said “’Morning. ‘Glad to have you back.” Then he retreated into his suite adjoining the conference room and locked the door.
A few hours later, Jim Spencer crept out into the hallway. He saw Maryanne Nelson and bid her a good morning. “Head feeling better?” he asked, then walked away toward the CFO’s office. Her door was open.
“You got a plan together?” Margaret demanded before he could speak. She knew Spencer thought himself Number Two in the company, after Kimball, but no one, including Kimball had ever made that quite clear. “What‘re you gonna do about it? Have you seen Hank today?” Spencer never called Mr. Kimball ‘Hank’. “He was here a minute ago, asking about Maryanne.” Spencer opened his mouth but no words came out. He stumbled back into the hallway, dazed. Tims popped out of the Call Center, the sound of feminine giggles following him into the hallway.
“Well, well …what’s up with Marketing?” Spencer asked, gathering himself. He straightened the large knot in tie. He was the only man who wore a tie at Miraculous.
“Sales.” Tims corrected him.
“Did you guys ever get that website stuff figured out? ‘Cant miss that wave!” Spencer continued. Tims had started the website project, but he hated it and got Maryanne to take over. She did a great job with it. Spencer, however, was hoping she’d fail. Then they could let her go, and make Tims look bad too. Spencer never trusted the Sales VP. To him, sales wasn’t legitimate work. Operations, his people, did all the real work. Sales just gathered up the commissions.
“’Getting plenty of traffic. ‘Lots of hits,” Tims explained. Spencer grunted. He wasn’t quite sure exactly what a ‘hit’ was.
“Well, we gotta do something,” he replied, looking for support. Tims shrugged his shoulders. Spencer brushed by, throwing a sharp glance back at him. “Something!” he snapped. Tims re-entered the Call Center to the sound of giggling. Spencer got back to his office, feeling worse than when he left a few minutes before. He checked his Inbox. There sat a message from Kimball. When the CEO was upset, he just filled in the Subject: line. And there it was, Subject: “Well?” Spencer winced.
The day dragged on. The air conditioning roared but the office grew warm in the August afternoon. Maryanne Nelson wondered for a moment why no one had stopped by to chat. Nonetheless, she went about her duties, unaware of the plot hatching around her. She worked on the website. She was presenting it to the Executive Team at two o’clock.
About one thirty, Mr. Kimball emerged from his suite, looking mad, waving a paper in his hand. He marched into Ginny Morris’s office.
“Have you seen this?!” he demanded. He threw the paper on her desk.
“Uh…uh…yes…certainly…no…maybe …what?” the young woman stammered, clicking away from Nordstrom.com. She just missed a 10% off sale that was expiring at that moment.
“Well, you signed off on it,” Kimball declared. Ginny picked up the paper: a Vacation Approval Form, submitted by Maryanne Nelson.
“Uh, well, Sir, yes I did. That was a week ago and I didn’t know then about…that we planned to let Maryanne ….”
“Just fix it,” he demanded.
“OK. Definitely, sir.’ Right away.” Kimball frowned and glided away on the plush carpet. Ginny picked up the phone and dialed Margaret Thomas, seeking help.
“You’re approving vacation for people who are leaving??!!” the CFO hissed into the phone. Margaret Thomas had spent many years rising to her position at Miraculous, many long nights sitting up with Kimball straightening out the books. She was jealous of Ginny Morris, who’d made the Executive Team after only two years. And then, Ginny was young and pretty and stayed in great shape because she was single and had time to work out at the gym, or the club as she liked to say. (Kimball liked Ginny too, though he referred to her as a ‘useful idiot,’ behind her back.) Margaret smoothed her hands over her own ample figure. No getting around it, she thought, I’m stout. Three kids and a few decades behind a desk will do it to anyone she reflected, but it didn’t help her appreciate her colleague in HR any better.
“I didn’t know about Maryanne when I signed these,” Ginny whined. “And now Kimball wants me to fix it.” Margaret was silent. She knew Ginny was stuck. They were all stuck. “Maybe you can come up with something? How about…there’s just no room in the budget, right? Right? Something like that …”
“Let me think!” Margaret answered, and hung up. She stared out the window. She wanted to call someone to help, but she didn’t trust anyone. She thought about her sister Alice, who worked at a really big company where they had a mentoring program. That’s what I need, Margaret thought, a mentor. But who would mentor me, she wondered? Kimball? She stared out the window again. A solitary man with a leaf blower worked the sidewalk in the distance.
At two pm the members of the Executive Team dragged themselves into the conference room. Maryanne Nelson was already there with a projector. Spencer sat down at the head of the table, like he belonged there, then grew anxious and moved to the side. Ginny Morris refused the table, and propped herself against the wall with her laptop. Margaret Thomas brought an armful of spreadsheets to review. Tims came in late with a cup of strong coffee and slumped into a chair and yawned.
“Where’s Mr. Kimball?” someone asked. They all fidgeted. They knew Kimball might show up, he might not. His door was closed, and no one dared knock, so Maryanne plunged in. She had worked hard on the presentation. It was well organized. It was thoughtful. It showed her in a good light. Spencer pretended to be listening, and asked a few questions about ‘hits’. Tims couldn’t understand why Miraculous needed to be fooling with the Internet anyway. Margaret Thomas scribbled something that looked important on a big sheet of numbers. Ginny Morris bought a pair of shoes at Nordstom.com.
At the end of the presentation, Maryanne beamed. The new website looked nice and professional. Traffic was up, hits were up. Everyone thanked her. She thanked them, then apologized: she had to rush and present to the West Coast office via conference call. She left them.
The little fan in the projector continued to whirr for a very long minute after Maryanne’s exit. Then it stopped. Then it was quiet. Margaret looked up from her numbers. Tims rubbed his eyes. Spencer drummed his fingers on the table. Ginny Morris closed her laptop. It was all in slow motion, like an hour passed in the warm room.
“OK, I’ll do it.” Spencer whispered, like he was trying to speak up but couldn’t. No one spoke. He said it again, louder “I’ll do it.” They didn’t want Spencer doing it, but they didn’t want to volunteer either. “What are you going to say?” Tims asked. “When are you going to do it?” Margaret inquired. “Does HR have to be there?” Ginny wondered out loud.
“I’ll just tell her we’ve decided to move in a new direction,” Spencer offered. “What direction?” Tims asked. “Who decided?” Margaret wanted to know. “I can’t put that in the HR file,” Ginny exclaimed.
“Well, we gotta do something!” Spencer shouted, folding his arms across his chest. He was frustrated, but even more he wished he hadn’t raised his voice. It was unprofessional, not leader-like. He wondered what a good management coach would do.
“What about her vacation?” Ginny implored. “I said it was OK.” Margaret shot her a glance cold as ice. She was tired of her whining.
“Just say something about the budget, Jim,” Margaret explained. “Tell her it’s not a discharge. Miraculous is simply eliminating the Marketing Manager position.”
“That’s a lie,” Tims blurted. He looked over at Ginny for support, but Margaret had cowed her into silence.
“Position elimination?” Spencer pondered. “Hhmm… I like the sound of that, position elimination. Right. Yes! A re-org. So it’s about the position. It’s not about her. Not really.”
“I think it is about her,” Tims countered. “She’s the one losing …”
“Well, maybe you should tell her, Tims,” Spencer replied bitterly. They looked over at Kimball’s door. It was still closed. He was in there, they knew. “I’ll send her an Email.”
“No. You’ve got to talk to her,” Ginny Morris said, stiffening. “That’s the only way.”
“OK, so I’ll call her tonight.”
“No no no.” Margaret exclaimed. “If you can’t speak to her in person, face to face, then don’t do it.” Spencer drummed his fingers on the polished walnut table. He straightened the large knot in his tie.
“Alright. Whatever. So I’ll meet with her tomorrow. Who’s going to help me?”
There was no answer. Then, Kimball’s door opened. Not quickly, not slowly, but measured, grim almost, like the ponderous jaws of some enormous crustacean that lives in the depths of the sea. He stuck his head out.
The CEO didn’t acknowledge any of them. He just stared into the room. Only the faintest smile crawled across his face. Then he withdrew. The door closed.
The next day was Friday. This was fortuitous for Spencer since he had heard Fridays were always the best days to get rid of somebody. If there was any drama, the weekend gave everyone a chance to cool off. But he had slept little the night before. He didn’t know when, or how, or why exactly he was going to do it. Or even what to say. ‘Position eliminated’ seemed right yesterday, but now it felt dry and officious. He tried to say the words, but they stuck. He considered alternatives: ‘Something about the budget. A new direction. Good to great. Downsizing. Rightsizing. Nothing made sense. He drank six cups of coffee that morning.
Margaret Thomas buried herself in work. It was month-end, and she had to complete the financials. She slammed her door and locked it. Kimball himself knocked but she wouldn’t answer. She turned off her phone, logged off the email, trying to disappear.
Tims talked the whole thing over with Ginny Morris. He liked her. She was pretty. And she liked him too, coming out from behind her desk when he came into her office, taking a seat beside him. She thought Tims’ work calling on clients was glamorous, especially when he got to visit New York. “It stinks,” he told her, this Maryanne thing. “It just stinks.” Ginny Morris shrugged. She thought his hair looked nice so she made big eyes at him, and shrugged. “Why can’t Kimball do it? It’s bullshit,” he said. She smiled, crossing her pretty legs. Tims noticed.
By lunchtime the Executive Team was exhausted. Spencer was sick to his stomach from too much coffee. Margaret Thomas had become lightheaded staring at her figures. Tims was so disgusted he went to the driving range down the street and hit golf balls. Ginny Morris felt good. She had found another bargain at Nordstrom.com, but she became slightly nauseous when she sent Maryanne Nelson an email invite to a meeting at three in the conference room. She left the Subject: line empty even though she knew what it was about. Ginny’s heart fluttered when the invite was quickly accepted. She looked at the donuts she’d brought back from Kimball’s meeting that morning, feeling queasy.
At a quarter to three, Spencer herded the little team into the conference room. Panic gripped them. They were all wound tight as a golf ball. They blamed Kimball. They mistrusted each other. They were down on themselves. They could barely speak. It had become clear to Spencer that now … with the crisis upon him … he couldn’t go through with it. He stared bitterly at his hands that were folded on the conference table as if in prayer. Margaret Thomas also knew Spencer couldn’t do it. Tims thought Spencer might really do it, but hated him for it. Ginny Morris was just glad she didn’t have to do it. They stared at each other in a sweaty silence.
Then Kimball: they stared at his door. He’s in there, surely. Maybe he’ll reconsider, they thought. Maybe we can wait till next year, they hoped. Maybe there’s another job here Maryanne could do, they pondered. Spencer rose. It took an hour for him to cross the room, it seemed. At Kimball’s door he raised his hand to knock … and … and there it froze, in mid-air, suspended, paralyzed, like a statue. A forever passed. And then another one. Finally, at long last, Spencer’s hand fell … but not on Kimball’s door. It fell to his side like something flabby and decayed. Next, Tims rose. He was mad, but he couldn’t quite get his feet under him. Ginny Morris was tugging on his sleeve, her face filled with a twisted mixture of affection and anxiety. The man fell back into his chair, the woman gripping his arm. Finally Margaret Thomas stood; they all looked at her. She had known Kimball the longest. The CFO approached the door. She prepared to knock, but thought better of it, calling out his name … “Mr. Kimball. Mr. Kimball. Henry. Hank!”
The door remained. It was five minutes ‘til three.
“We can’t do it,” someone whispered. Suddenly, a sound … a something… emanated from behind Kimball’s door. It may have been laughter. No one could be sure. No one spoke.
Then the silence again. “She’ll be here in a few minutes!” someone gasped.
“Alright,” Spencer spoke up, with the confidence of a man who had reached the very end of his rope, who had nothing more to lose. He could as easily have said ‘Uncle’. He tore a sheet of paper from his legal pad: “If we can’t say it to her, goddamn it, maybe we can just write it down.”
“It stinks!” Tims ejaculated.
“Just do it!” Margaret barked. She tore a sheet from her pad. Ginny Morris did likewise, and gave a sheet to Tims as well, who never took notes during a meeting.
“She’s coming!” Ginny cried. They all wrote something down, and tossed their messages onto the table. Then, as one, the Executive Team departed.
The conference room was empty now. It was quiet and very still save for the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the big windows, illuminating the dust motes suspended in the air. If the sheets of paper on the table had been living things, one might have said they were lonely. It was this scene that waited on Maryanne Nelson when she arrived at exactly three.
The Marketing Manager checked her watch. ‘Give them a few minutes, she thought, and of course Mr. Kimball was always late. She approached the sheets of paper on the table. They were turned face down, but she could make out writing on the other side. She looked at Kimball’s door. All quiet. She looked back into the hallway. No sign of the others. She reached for one of the sheets of paper, turned it over, and slowly read it.
“Dear Mr. Kimball, it is with sincere regret that I must resign my position at Miraculous Technology, effective immediately. I have been under much stress and I cannot fulfill my responsibilities. Also, I am thinking of starting my own coaching company. Respectfully, James Spencer, VP-Operations.”
Maryanne Nelson gasped. She had known Spencer for a long time, and respected him. Operations always mystified her. She returned the message to the table. Again, Kimball’s door remain closed. She heard nothing in the hallway. She reached for the next sheet of paper.
“Dear Mr. Kimball, it is with sincere regret that I must resign my position at Miraculous Technology, effective immediately. I have been unable to concentrate on my work due to internal conflicts that I cannot resolve. I am also hoping to spend more time with my family. Respectfully, Robert Tims, VP-Sales.”
Maryanne Nelson’s knees grew weak. She was grateful to Tims when he gave her the website project. She looked around … all quiet still. She reached forward again.
“Dear Mr. Kimball, it is with sincere regret that I must resign my position at Miraculous Technology, effective immediately. I am sorry that I signed the Vacation Approval Form for Ms. Nelson. It was a mistake that has upset me to no end, to the point where I can’t work anymore. Besides, I am thinking of going into retail. Respectfully, Virginia Morris, VP-Human Resources.”
Maryanne felt an empty place in her stomach. She was sorry the vacation request had upset Ginny Morris. She liked her. There was always chocolate or treats in her office. There was one last paper. Maryanne looked around again. No sound from Kimball’s office, no sound from the hallway. Only the silence. She read the last paper.
“Dear Mr. Kimball, it is with sincere regret that I must resign my position at Miraculous Technology, effective immediately. I have spent too many years submerged in numbers, and I need a break. A long break. I have few friends here, outside yourself of course, and in fact few friends anywhere. I am thinking of buying a condo in Miami Beach. Respectfully, Margaret Thomas, Chief Financial Officer.”
Maryanne Nelson sat down, or fell, into a chair. She felt faint. Everyone was going. ‘Already gone, in fact, it seemed. She wondered what was happening. What was going on? There was almost no one left. She sobbed up a few tears.
Henry Kimball, CEO, opened the door of his office and stepped briskly into the conference room. Maryann Nelson rose to greet him, but he waved her off. She remained still.
“I guess maybe you’ve heard by now,” Kimball said, taking a seat at the head of the table. Maryanne thought of her colleagues and tried to speak, but she felt overwhelmed.
“It’s all over. We’re selling the company.”
Maryanne’s eyes, already moist, now grew large as dinner plates. “Yes. Fabulous Computers finally made us … made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.” Kimball gave a little laugh at his choice of words. “Shareholder value, you know! It’s a total buyout. We’ll be merging with them right away. Actually, it could be a pretty good deal for the workers. The new company will be a bigger operation, more opportunity, more products and services.”
Maryanne looked at the resignation letters on the desk.
“But for management?” Kimball shook his head sadly. “No, there’s quite a bit of duplication. I’m afraid the Fabulous team will run the new company.” He looked at the sheets of paper on the table. He looked at Maryanne Nelson for a long time. “And that means us too, I’m afraid.”
Maryanne Morris sank deeply into her chair. She stared at the floor and sighed. She noticed the dust motes dancing in the sunlight in the warm conference room. Everyone was going.
“Including me.” Kimball groaned. They just sat together in the silence for a few minutes. It seemed like a forever. But eventually it grew comfortable.
“Is there anything I can do, Mr. Kimball?” she asked.
Kimball shook his head. He picked up the documents the Executive Team had left on the table for him to see. He tidied up the little sheets of paper and slid them into a folder. But he didn’t read them. ‘Like he didn’t need to.
“No thanks, Maryanne. You’ve already helped immensely.”
She knew it was the end.
“Why don’t you take a little vacation? On the house …” Kimball said, smiling.
***
Image: Flickr, “Meeting room stencil graffiti” by username: Richard Rutter (clagnut), under the Attribution 2.0 Generic license.