Company - Max Barry [10]
When she was a mere sales assistant, Sydney was an amusing oddity. When her elfin eyes narrowed, her little nose wrinkled, and her tiny mouth raged, people suppressed smiles. Her rants about people who failed to take her seriously were funny; you couldn't take them seriously. Then she was promoted to sales rep, which meant she couldn't be ignored anymore. That was less amusing. Sydney was bitter about pretty much everyone; there was nobody, it seemed, who had not done her wrong. The Training Sales team suspects that a bitter incident lurks in Sydney's past, something involving faster-developing girls in the high-school locker room—or a series of incidents. If Sydney was male, they are sure that she would have a home gym and biceps the size of small children.
How she became manager remains a mystery. But there are only two possibilities. One is that Senior Management mistook her tirades for drive and a commitment to excellence. The other is that they knew Sydney was a paranoid psychopath, and that's exactly the kind of person they want in management.
Except for Sydney's office, the meeting room is the only place in the department with an exterior glass wall. At this time of the day, the sun streams in, bathing the room in delightful yellow warmth or fiery, retina-stabbing arrows, depending on which side of the table you sit. So the assistants are shielding their eyes while the sales reps quietly warm their backs. Except for Wendell: Wendell is nowhere to be seen.
Sydney takes a seat at the head of the table, which has been left for her. Not even Jones, new to these meetings, was foolish enough to drop himself into that seat. Today she is dressed from head to toe in black: black pants, black high-collared shirt, and black high heels tapering to a dangerous-looking point. Sydney has a variety of outfits, and they range in color from charcoal to jet. Freddy, the oldest surviving member of Training Sales, swears that one day she showed up in a gray knit, but nobody believes him.
Sydney's green eyes flick about the table. “How is everyone?”
“Great.” Nobody mentions Wendell.
Sydney has papers. She smooths them as if they are very important, as if they are the bearers of great and terrible wisdom. “You all know the company is still cost cutting. Every department has to make more savings. And, well, I've looked at the alternatives. . . .” She shrugs. These alternatives clearly didn't impress her. “I'm dropping another headcount.”
A low moan escapes from Jones. Elizabeth and Roger remain calm, at least outwardly. Megan, the department PA, is surprised; she had no idea anyone was getting sacked. Holly and Freddy glance at Wendell's empty chair.
Sydney says, “So that's that. It's always difficult for the rest when one person goes, but we just have to come together to make an even tighter team. Does anyone have anything else?”
There is silence. Megan, thinking she is the only ignorant one, says, “Sorry, who's been fired?”
“Oh. Wendell.”
There is a collective exhalation like a punctured mattress—except from Freddy, who sucks in air. “But Wendell's the best-performing rep!”
Sydney's pixie features focus on him. Freddy involuntarily leans back in his chair. “Wendell's performance this month has been excellent, yes. His results should be a benchmark for you all. But it came to my attention that he was involved in some irregularities concerning morning snacks. There's no need to go into details. But I want to make this clear: I won't tolerate selfishness. This is a team. We pull together or we don't go anywhere. Is that clear?”
The team mumbles assent. “Absolutely,” Roger says.
“Also,” Sydney says, straightening her papers, “the commissions on all those orders of Wendell's would have put us way over budget.”
Megan says, “Oh, I didn't know we cancel the commissions of reps who get fired.” Everybody freezes. Megan has no idea