FIRED

Chapter 1

Morning Commute

6:33 am

“…but that will be later in the show in the 9 o’clock hour. Can’t wait for that. And now, here’s Peter with some news.”

It was the voice of the Deejay, one of the only ones he could stand. Not hyperactive and smart ass and smarmy like the 99% of the Deejays in America.

“We start the day with some sad news from the music world. The legendary Johnny Cash died yesterday of complications from Diabetes. He was 71. And, that wasn’t the only loss. TV comedian John Ritter died suddenly from an undetected rip in his aorta. He was rushed to the hospital from the set of his newest sitcom, but died before surgeons could save him.”

“Damn, great start today,” was the first thought that crossed Martin’s mind that morning.

The alarm always went off at 6:33 am. He didn’t like setting the alarm for a round number like 6:30 or 6:35. One of the few wild and free aspects he had in his life. Who know what time he might get up!?! 6:31? 6:34? Or maybe 6:33. Even that was pretty rigid, right there between 6:30 and 6:35. Actually, what he liked most was that the news was always right about 6:33. So, he could wake up, know what the state of the world was before getting out of bed. Make sure no airplanes were being flown into skyscrapers. Or that no celebrities had died. Only that wasn’t the case today.

“A man in Oakland was shot dead last night while trying to save another gunshot victim…”

“Jesus Christ. Do I stay in bed all day? Or got out there in this? Well, at least no airplanes were flown into skyscrapers. Of course, that could be happening right this moment, couldn’t it?” he thought.

“Should be warm and clear across the Bay Area today, with the high in San Francisco at a sweltering 94 degrees. Back to you Dave.”

Alright, let’s go. No snooze button. Otherwise he’d sleep all day. 32 year old men can’t sleep all day. Especially 32 year old men with full-time jobs. Especially grown men with stable jobs in this rocky economy. Especially guys like him who are still living at home supporting their moms.

He rolled out of the bed, putting his bare feet on the rug, pulling himself into a sitting position on the side of bed. Running his fingers through his hair, rubbing deeply and furiously, he takes a loud deep sighing breath and gets up, puts on a robe over his boxers and t-shirt and heads for the bathroom. Pee. Pert. Same old soap. Scope. It is a routine and it only takes about 15 minutes. Back in his room, he gets out the gray suit, white Kenneth Cole oxford and a bright deep royal blue tie. After putting on his nice black loafers that were only $14.99 at Payless, it is has only been 5 more minutes. More routine. He puts his wallet keys and a quarter in his pocket, and heads out to the kitchen.

Sitting at the table, mom is there already, of course. Reading the paper, drinking weak coffee made from some grocery store brand in a vacuum-sealed can, and waiting for Good Morning America to start.

“John Ritter died.” She says.

“Yeah, so did Johnny Cash. Good morning.” He kisses her on the cheek. It is a few minutes after seven am, and he is on his way out the door.

“You look nice,” she says as he gets some leftover pasta out of the fridge and puts in his bag.

“Same suit I always wear.” He responds, before recognizing it as a compliment. “Thanks, I like this one.”

“What do you want for dinner? I’m thinking about making enchiladas with black beans. Sound good?”

“Mom, that’s an awful lot of trouble. Just make whatever you want. I’ll be home around 7 or so, okay?”

“Alright. Do you think they’ll show the John Ritter show tonight, since he died and all?”

“I don’t know,” he said, not really caring, but also feeling somewhat guilty for thinking gratefully that they might never show that sitcom again now that he was dead.

“Well, anyway, Big Brother is on tonight. Will you be home?”

“Yeah, I said I’d be home around 7 or so. Okay, I gotta go. Bye.”

“Bye, honey.”

He grabbed his backpack and headed for the door at 7:10. He liked to be at the West Portal train stop by 7:30, so he could be to the office by 8 am ahead of most of the others in the office. Like usual, he headed down the street and grabbed a newspaper from the rack on his way. He always made sure to have a quarter in his pocket for the paper. He hated it when he didn’t and had to go into the coffee shop to get change. He hated just asking for change, because it seemed rude and disrespectful of the business owner, and he was embarrassed to stand in line just to get change. And there was always a line in the morning, of course. And, even more, he hated getting a coffee just to get change because then he had to either chug it down or throw it away before he got on the bus. But today, he had the quarter.

With his backpack slung over his left shoulder and the paper in his right hand, he waited for the M-Ocean View to come and whisk him and the masses downtown. Everyday, he saw familiar faces, but not the exact same ones. Isn’t everyone up and about this time of day on the same schedule? Wouldn’t they always be here for the bus at about 7:30? And, who are these people he’s never seen before? Where are they going all of the sudden this morning at 7:30? He assumed that they didn’t have jobs and would rather be at home in bed.

Another reason he liked to be here by 7:30 is because the bus usually wasn’t too crowded and he could get a seat and read the paper. It was like some sort of small defeat or a bad omen to start the day having to stand on the bus the whole trip downtown. It was too much work this early and it was virtually impossible to read the paper. But he tried sometimes, nonetheless, and always embarrassed himself by dropping the paper or bumping into someone because he wasn’t holding onto the rail when the bus lurched. But he got a seat today, sitting next to the guy who looked like an uptight Clark Kent, an odd guy with the almost-Hitleresque mustache who always read science fiction novels was standing next to him. Who would wear a moustache like that, wondered. His briefcase kept nudging his foot. He always thought sci-fi Hitler guy might be gay and silently hitting on him, and today added to that theory, but they never spoke or even made any significant eye contact. And, of course, he wasn’t interested, even if he was gay. And, he was almost certain that he was not gay. This odd feeling had been going on every since he first became aware of sci-fi Hitler’s presence, which was probably about 3 years ago. And, they had never spoken a single word that he could remember. Not even, “excuse me.” This guy had been in his life in for several years, and he didn’t know anything about him, and this was baffling to him.

The train entered the tunnel that shuttled him and his fellow passengers from the southwest region of San Francisco into the beating heart of the city. From sunlight into darkness, and chugging through as if in a time machine or Willy Wonka’s insane gondola down the chocolate river. A quick stop at the Forest Hill station, deep within the innards of the city, and on toward downtown.

Not much in the paper today. Reminiscing about the anniversary of September 11. Updates on the gubernatorial recall. More US soldiers killed in Iraq. Nothing too interesting. He really wanted to know more about how John Ritter died, but it all happened before the press deadlines. By the time he made it through the main news section, the entertainment section, and business, he got to his stop downtown. He threw the paper in a recycling bin on his way out of the station with hundreds of others making their way out. Sci-fi Hitler guy was still on the train, heading who knows where.

The line at Starbucks was so long he almost considered coming back later, but he knew it wouldn’t let up until about 10:30 or so. Of course, there were 2 others across the street, but that would be back-tracking and a waste of time. Plus, it looked like their lines were just a long. Oh well. It was just too bad that he threw out the paper, he thought. He could have read the local news section, or the food section. Not that he ever cooked. Mom took care of all that, and she was a pretty good cook most of the time. The leftover lasagna he brought for lunch was usually even better the next day.

After ten people ordered multi-syllabic coffee drinks, he got his medium, er, grande, house coffee and multi-grain bran muffin to go and got to his office at 8:03 according to his desk clock.

The only one in so far was the receptionist Sunny. Her name was actually Diane, but someone took to calling her Sunny D because she was always so up. Then, it just became Sunny, and he thought she actually preferred that to her real name. The thought of having a nickname appalled him.

As his computer warmed up, he put his lasagna in the fridge, making sure his name was readable on the Tupperware, because he was sick of having his lunch stolen and having to get a burrito or fast food. Then, he grabbed the two memos in his mailbox in the supply room and returned to his desk. The staff meeting was moved until later in the afternoon and Sunny was politely reminding everyone to take their lunch containers home with them. Sipping his coffee, he launched his internet browser and began scanning the headlines.

They didn’t need to be in the office until 9 or even 9:30, but he liked to get there early and settle in for the day. He didn’t know how these others just walk in and get right to work. He needs to ease into the day. But, it seemed that they spent most of the morning yakking and getting coffee, actually, instead of working. Meanwhile, he was already at it, under their noses and bugging them. They were talking about who got voted off the island or out of the house last night, and he was reminding them that he needed their benefit forms.

Silence. He went to CNN.com to skim the headlines, to see if any airplanes had flown into any skyscrapers while he was on the bus and at Starbucks. Nope, just updates and the celebrity deaths and Al-Queda warnings. Onto his list of favorites, which dutifully checked each morning. There was movie news at Aint It Cool News and Movie City News. There was in depth news of the world and the Big Apple in the New York Times, whose website was still thankfully free. On Wednesdays, there was the Onion. And, whenever she updated it, there was Karen’s blog. She was his best friend in college, and she is constantly at cool jobs all over the world. You never knew where she would be or what she would be doing next. They only got the chance to talk a couple times a year these days, but he felt like they were still close through her blog. He knew all about her relationship with Chris, from beginning to end. He knew about her bizarre connection to the Martha Stewart scandal. And, he knew deep down that he had never been mentioned in the blog. But then again, he didn’t really figure into her life anymore. But, everytime they did talk, he had a great time.

Alright, 9am was rolling closer and it was time to get to work. He opened his email program and eleven messages beeped in. As usual, most were general benefits questions. Can I change primary care physicians? I am having twins, so does that double my maternity benefits? Being the benefits administrator, he had to deal with some of the most private aspects of his co-workers lives, which made him very uncomfortable sometimes. But he liked the cut-and-dried aspects of his job. Everyone had a file, and every file had a person. Certain forms needed to be in each and every file, and no file was complete without the requisite forms. Everyone’s question could be answered by the handbooks, so he just had to know the handbooks real well. The real challenge was handling the different benefit plans in different states, and keeping on top of the regulatory changes. And, even the private details didn’t really bother him all that much. He was exceedingly discreet and respectful, as he didn’t want anyone prying into his personal life. Not that there was anything to find out in there, but he didn’t want anyone bothering him just the same.

There was also an email from his boss, and it was time stamped at 7:45 am. Apparently, she was there. He thought he was alone, and he didn’t hear her in the next office. It was just an email reminder that the staff meeting was moved from 1pm to 4pm.

He opened his to do list and got ready for the day. Not a lot to do today. Open enrollment was coming up in three weeks, and he had to prepare the volumes of materials to disseminate to the 387 employees of Rittenhouse Medical Consulting in 4 states. So, today would be a lot of copying, collating, organizing, counting, and boxing. He should be able to handle that.

“Knock knock,” he heard coming from the doorway. It was Lizzie, and she was pantomiming a knock with her right hand. He wondered why she didn’t just actually knock.

“Hi Lizzie.”

“Hey Martin. How’s it going?”

“Fine. You?”

“Good. Are you busy? Can I bug you for a minute?” He knew it would be more than a minute, but said yes anyway.

Lizzie walked in and sat in the extra seat in his office, even though he hadn’t invited her in to sit. She was a junior consultant with Rittenhouse and like many of the other junior consultants, she was fresh out of graduate school with an MBA or MPH, was in her mid-twenties and was either engaged or newlywed. Lizzie was actually a bit further along than the others. Not only did she get married last January, about six months after graduation and about 5 months after starting work at Rittenhouse, she was also pregnant. She was just starting to show.

“Well, I have kind of exciting news, but a few questions,” she said. “We’re having twins!” Her eyes twinkled and her mouth stretched into a wide solid smile. Martin knew what he needed to say.

“Oh, hey, how exciting! That’s great!”

“Yeah. We’re pretty excited. Twins run in Ian’s family. He has twin brothers and twin cousins and his dad has twin sisters. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“Wow. Imagine that.”

“Yeah, so two for one. Well, I have a question about benefits related to this. I know open enrollment is coming up, and it will probably be answered in all those forms, which I never understand, so I just thought I’d pop in and ask you.”

“Uh huh,” he nodded.

“When I add the benefits for my new baby, is going to be twice as much out of my paycheck since it is twins?”

“No, not all. You could have one kid, twins, or octuplets. It is all the same. You either get coverage for just you, you and your spouse, or you and the family. And, by family, it means all children, whether there is 1 or 100. You’re fine. You’re covered.”

“Oh thank god. I was worried it was going to cost me like an extra hundred bucks a month or something just because our genes are a bit off. Whew!” she added with a little fake wipe of the brow.

“Lizzie, can I ask you a question? I’m just curious…what would you have done if it did cost that much?”

“Well, I would have paid it, of course. What, do you think I’d put one of them up for adoption.”

“I dunno why I thought of that. You don’t need to worry about anything until the open enrollment period. And even then you just have to put you and Ian down. You don’t add the babies’ coverage until they are born, okay?”

“Sure, thanks Martin. I don’t know what we’d do without you,” she said with a cheer in her voice. “Have a good day. See you at the staff meeting I guess.”

“Okay. See you.”

He turned back to his desk and opened Word and the open enrollment letter from his boss, the Vice President of Human Resources and Management, that explained to the staff how the whole process worked. It was so simple, but they always misunderstood every year. He always had to go through each application with a fine-toothed comb to look for errors and inconsistencies. This was a chance for employees to easily make adjustments and changes to their health plan coverage, switch carriers or coverage levels, choose a new primary care physician. That sort of thing. About eighty percent of employees didn’t change a thing, but there were always tons of mistakes. They’d accidentally change to a more expensive health plan, which he knew they didn’t mean to choose. He’d go through each application and compare it to the current coverage. When there was a red flag, he’d always follow-up with the employee to make sure they wanted to make sure they really wanted the change. And, usually, they’d made a mistake. This year, they are simply adding a question at the very beginning of the application that asked for a yes or no answer. “Do you want to make any changes to your health plan coverage?” And, of course, even this simple addition required a revised cover letter from Susan, his boss, explaining how the process worked. He made the necessary minor changes to the letter and printed it up.

With that, he intercommed Susan to see if she was there and if she wanted to sign the letter so that he could go ahead and make the 150 copies necessary for the open enrollment packets. “I’m here. Can you come by in, say, 10 minutes?” He said sure and let go of the intercom button. For the next few minutes he got out the applications, which were preprinted by the benefits administration company, and laid them out on the table next to the envelopes and labels with each employee’s name and department on them. He grabbed the cover letter, which he had set down in his in box, and headed around the corner to Susan’s office.

Go To Chapter Two

http://scarletlibrarian.com/corey/chapter2.htm