Company - Max Barry [9]
Jones nods to himself. He hasn't been at Zephyr Holdings long enough to realize that it's always a market overreaction to unrelated events when the stock price goes down. When it goes up, it's due to the brilliance of management, and rewarded with stock options.
“That said, dropping 18 percent in a quarter isn't great news. If we're to remain competitive, every department must continue cost cutting. It's essential that we strip out the fat, focus on our core competencies, and tighten our belts. If we do this, and stick to our guns, I'm confident we can avoid significant retrenchments.
“That's it for now. I won't keep you from your work any longer.”
Freddy and Holly hang up together. “Ouch,” Freddy says.
“That can't affect us,” Holly says.
“He said every department.”
“But there won't be sackings. No ‘significant' retrenchments.”
“It's significant if it happens to you,” Freddy says.
Friday and Jones is heading into the bathroom when he bumps into Wendell. Jones is busting, because for the first time in his life there's free coffee available from a machine six yards away. It's four o'clock and he's had six coffees. The rest of the department is quickly learning that the best time to get a coffee is right after Jones, who doesn't mind replacing the filter.
He pulls open the bathroom's exterior door just as Wendell opens the interior one, so they face off in the tiny airlock, each with one hand on a door. Jones steps back to let Wendell pass, but Wendell doesn't move. “Hak-kah.” He glances around. “Jones, you don't know what Roger's up to with this donut business, do you?”
“No.” Jones can't help but notice that Wendell's hands are dry. He didn't hear the air blower.
“I haven't the foggiest idea who took his donut. But he's gotten it into his head that I'm somehow involved. He thinks I want to get back at him for taking my parking space.”
“Okay.”
“I've booked twelve hundred hours of training this month. That's more than Elizabeth. Roger's only got four hundred. If anyone should be nervous about getting fired, it should be him.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Wendell fingers the door handle. “So if you hear anything, let me know, will you?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you, Jones. I appreciate it.” He puts a hand on Jones's forearm as he passes.
When Jones returns to his desk, his bladder relieved and his forearm washed and blow-dried, Freddy sidles over. “Did you hear? Sydney's called a meeting. To discuss ‘organizational changes.'” He adjusts his glasses. “Look, if it's you . . . remember, it's nothing personal.”
“What? Why would I be fired?”
Holly looks across the low divider. “Jones is getting fired?”
“No, if. I'm saying if Sydney's sacking someone, it's going to be Jones. You know, last in, first out.”
“There's a last-in, first-out policy?”
“No,” Holly says.
Freddy pats Jones on the arm. It is the most awkward thing Jones has ever seen. “She probably won't sack anybody,” Freddy says, but this is clearly just for Jones's benefit.
Sydney, the Training Sales manager, enters the meeting room at two minutes past five. She is tiny. She has bright green eyes, little pixie features, and a nose like the Easter Bunny's. She surely cannot weigh more than thirty or forty pounds, and that's including her tailored business suit. Her hair is a neat blond bob. When she speaks, her voice is high and strained. When you see her, you want to pick her up and hug the adorable little thing tight.
But this would be a bad idea, because Sydney is a vicious bitch. You don't get to be manager of a sales department by the cuteness of your nose. Manager of marketing, yes; sales, no. In sales, you can't hide behind glossy brochures and manipulated reach figures. You either sell or you don't, and your performance is on display so everyone can tell which it is. To succeed in sales, you need skills—not skills entirely consistent with moral integrity and emotional well-being, but skills nevertheless. You must be able to sell things to people who don't want them. You must