“Big call. All bets locked in then,” Steve said with a knowing smile that said “I'll win this one.”
It had been brewing for weeks. The old hands like Steve and James know that when the senior management team start meeting together more frequently than normal, it's not because they've decided to collaborate for a change. It's because something's up.
Another sign is seeing them in pairs talking in hushed tones in the corridor or lift well. They'd seen their boss, Ross, in all sorts of conversations in the last fortnight, but it was hard to tell who was “winning” and who was “losing” from these. They all looked stressed.
Steve and James had just resumed focussing on their monitors when one of Ross's colleagues cruised by his workstation, mouthed the word “coffee”, and the two of them slunk off to a cafe, meeting room or cupboard for another essential conference. They exchanged knowing looks, and continued with their work.
The afternoon dragged on, with everyone quietly going about their business. There was no hint of impending doom, but that was mainly because the youngsters didn't yet know how to read the signs. The Noughties had been too good to them, and it was all they knew.
At three, Steve was interrupted by a “beep”from his email, and he was the first to see it. He clenched his buttocks for more than one reason, but the main one was to help him lift his head up just a bit so he could see James over his workstation wall. “Psst. Email. You win.”
“Yesssss,” hissed James quietly, holding a clenched fist up in front of his face in victory before he had actually read the email.
All Marketing Division Staff
Tomorrow, I will be sharing with you some plans for the ongoing development of the Marketing Division. In these difficult times, National Civic Bank is constantly looking for ways to serve our customers better and reward our shareholders with appropriate returns.
Please join me in the large conference room on the first floor at 3 pm. All staff are expected to attend.
Regards
Andy Matthews
General Manager, Marketing
“And have a great weekend, everyone!”
“Assessment?”
Steve thought for a while. “It's a big one. I'm going for total restructure, and ten percent headcount reduction across the Division.”
James was taken aback. He did not wish he'd got in first with that bet. “No way, it's only eighteen months since the last restructure. I'll go for “Re-alignment of functions to improve operational efficiency”.”
“OK, Jimbo, bets are locked in.”
Steve and James returned to their work without a second thought. They'd both been through so many of these restructures it was just a game to them. Whether it took weeks or months, no matter who lost their jobs or how much at risk they felt personally – it was all played out at Board level, and there was nothing to do but go with the flow, keep working, and attempt to have fun and stay sane on the way.
Not everyone on the floor was so relaxed. It was like invisible fret-bombs had been dropped at key junctions of the network, and the impact was edging around the floor one workstation at a time. In twos and threes, staff were gathering to dissect the news they were receiving as they checked their emails. The ones who were really worried were wringing their hands around their coffee cups and ringing home.
The afternoon breathed it's last gasp.
“Another stellar performance by management today,” said Steve as he gathered up his things to go home.
“Mmmm?”
“Were any members of the management team seen on the floor this afternoon? Ross? Nope – never came back. Any other managers? None. The erstwhile Andy Matthews? Invisible apart from that cheesy mug-shot embedded in his email.”
James hadn't really noticed. “That's a bad sign, isn't it?”
Steve nodded.
* * *
The office was full an hour earlier than usual the next day, but the keen attention that was being paid to PC screens and keyboards was mainly to do with registering on Seek.com and honing a set of job search criteria with unrealistic salary expectations.
“These kids are all shitting themselves. Look at them – all suited up on casual Friday, as if that's going to make a difference. And can you believe they've left it till three o'clock to make the announcement? Another day of max productivity.”
James was about to reply, but cut it short as Ross entered, as conspicuous by his lateness as everyone else was by their punctuality and high dress standards. He grabbed some files from a locked drawer and squirmed over to their workstations.
“Guys, how are you?”
“Got the re-org undies on today, Rosco. How about you?”
“Glad when the day's over. You right for the three o'clock?”
They nodded, and he responded with an exhausted half smile, half grimace. He wondered off towards the lift clutching the file like it contained poisonous snakes, checking in with the rest of the team as he went.
“Re-org undies?! I thought it was re-org boots,” said James.
“Ross knows his Dilbert cartoons, so would have appreciated the reference, I'm sure.”
They looked at each other across the barrier that divided them. Neither wanted to initiate the next round of tipping, but James couldn't leave it unsaid.
“What about Ross?”
Steve shook his head. “Gone.”
“Agreed – no point in running those odds. He looks shocking.”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
“He's bloody good, isn't he?”
“Best guy I've worked for. Sharp, knowledgeable, knows just when to weigh in and when to leave well alone.”
The silence that followed was testament to the regard they held him in. They shrugged with the resignation only long years bring, and returned to work.
The morning dragged on like a three hour risk and compliance training session.
No one came back from lunch until 2.45. They were all feigning carrying files in the vain belief anyone seeing them would think they'd been to a meeting. No one was paying any attention, even if the ruse had any chance of working.
James watched them drift in. “Hope no one's been drinking at lunch.”
Steve looked around and eyed the lambs, shaking in their workstation stalls waiting for the rubber ring or the knife. “Nup. That will be later.”
As the clock edged towards three, the washrooms were full of people having one last nervous pee. In twos and threes, then in larger groups, they made their way towards the lift well, each carrying a notepad and pen in the mistaken belief that it made them look more attentive or professional.
Andy's management team were sitting in a row behind him on stools. Suited up and standing to attention, there was no sense of unity among the six of them. It was clear from the two who wore insufferable cheshire-cat grins that they thought they were on the podium, while the rest were in the process of being hung out to dry.
The Head of Human Resources, Leanne Campell, sat at the back of the room, sporting her usual calmly concerned expression that fought its way through layers of makeup and botox.
Andy launched into the presentation with his usual mix of bravado and smarm. To those who hadn't heard it all before, Andy came across as a consummate performer. The choreographed expressions of concern and enthusiasm were designed to draw you into some kind of inextricable logic behind what he was trying to convince you of – that it was good for everyone if ten percent of the division lost their jobs over the next month or so.
Every now and again James gave the slow motion blink of the eyes that from side on said to Steve that he was holding in a scream. Steve was studying the six riders of the apocalypse, perched on their stools. The in-crowd nodded sagely when Andy made a supposedly important point, while Ross and the other three sat there like miniature Easter Island statues. It was excruciating.
Andy completed his prepared presentation, and stood there like a stand-up comedian waiting for a laugh. He was met b
y a wall of silence.
“I'm happy to answer any questions you have now, and of course your manager will be on hand to discuss the changes with you and other members of their team over coming weeks.” Andy looked around the room with a smile that was not so much genuine as daring anyone to ask something. Just as Andy drew breath to announce the meeting closed, it was Steve who asked a question.
“Given how successful we've been over the last 18 months, in what particular areas are you hoping to see improvement through this process?” This was the civilised translation of what he was really asking, and what everyone was thinking: “We know you got a big fat bonus on the strength of our hard work last year, so why aren't you standing up for us?”
Andy waffled through a non-answer to the question, and it was clear to everyone that a fairly straightforward question had completely rattled him. He regained his composure, didn't invite any more questions, and wound up with extolling everyone to keep pressing ahead with “business as usual” while the next phase of the changes were worked out. No one paid any attention.
Madame Botox, as Steve called her, handed out packs of information to each person as they filed past and out the door.
Back at their desks, Steve and James gave everyone the impression they were straight back into their work. They were in fact exchanging emails.
James: Surprised we didn't all slip over on the BS being spread around in there.
Steve: Verdict?
James: Bad.
Steve: Your turn to go first –how many of the management team survive?
James: Two.
Steve: Oohh, James bets on carnage. Can't buy that, I'll go for four. Andy doesn't have the balls for big changes.
They sealed the bet with a silent nod over the workstation wall, and soldiered on.
For the last half-hour, time was becalmed within site of five o'clock.
Steve looked up from the monitor he'd been attempting to focus on for the last hour or so. “Where is everyone?”
“Gone to drinks early, I'm guessing. Don't think I could stomach all those Gen Ys fretting about how they're going to pay for their mobile phone plan if they lose their jobs.”
Steve laughed. “Harsh but fair, Jimbo. Straight home, then?”
“Yep. See you Monday.”
They locked their computers, grabbed their backpacks and headed for the lifts. As they did most afternoons, they parted company outside the main door, under the National Civic logo. They headed in different directions, for trains to different parts of the city, to their homes and families.
There was no need to voice their own fears for their jobs –that was a given.
* * *
The mood on Monday was like the dressing room of a football team that had just lost five games in a row. Phones rang unanswered, and people scurried around silently or slunk into the chairs. The head coach was nowhere to be seen.
James was a little later than usual, and breezed in as if it was any other Monday morning.
“Jimbo, how was the weekend?”
James shrugged. “Usual. Kids sport, shopping, cleaning up around the place. It was a bit surreal –calm and normal while here is . . .”
“Just as surreal. How did she take the news?”
“I've told her that I'm about to lose my job so many times over the last few years, she doesn't get excited about it any more. You?”
Steve gave a guilty look, and responded in a whisper. “Decided to keep it to myself until I know what is really happening. She'll do enough worrying then if it's needed.”
It was about 9.30 when Ross trudged over to Steve and James' workstations.
“Lads – how was the weekend?”
“Fine. Bit of shopping. Had to buy some new aftershave.”
Ross knew Steve was about to crack a joke, but he was too tired to stop him.
“They had four litre bottles of 'The Stench of Success' on sale – bought two.”
“But used neither this morning,” said James, with an exaggerated sniff of the air.
“Hey, can I grab you two for half an hour?”
They nodded, picked up notebooks and pens, and followed Ross to a meeting room on the other side of the floor. This was what usually happened when Ross had a problem to solve.
“What did you think of last Friday?” Ross did not need to brace himself for the response, he knew he was only going to get brutal honesty when he asked a question like this.
James went first. “Leaving aside Andy's load of rubbish, the fact that there were no managers on the floor on Thursday or Friday was pretty poor.”
“Andy and Leanne kept us in meetings the whole time, planning communications, developing FAQs and key messages, doing project plans, re-cutting budgets, blah, blah, blah. It just went on and on.”
“What's driving it? Is it the CEO?” asked Steve.
Ross paused to formulate a response. “I think it's what Andy thinks Murray Swan wants.”
“And is it?”
“No. I don't think so.”
The pointlessness of it all hung in the air like the remnants of a foetid fart.
“Anyway, I wanted to bring you guys up to speed on what's happening. I'm not supposed to tell you until later in the week, according to the communication plan, but what the hell?” Ross waved around a multicoloured sheet covered in minute printing, then flicked it into the air.
“First of all, the management team is being reduced from six to five, and in practice, that means that four of the jobs are being made into three slightly different ones. So, what Andy didn't spell out last Friday is that the four of us affected are on redeployment, pending our applications for the new roles.”
“When did you find out?”
“About ten days ago. Only saw the new job descriptions last Friday morning. They'll be advertised internally tomorrow.”
There was a question not even Steve would ask. Ross answered it anyway.
“I've decided not to apply. I've been here too long, I can't stand working for Andy, I just need to do something else.”
“What will you look for? Job market is still pretty tight,” said James.
“I've got something almost lined up – a six month contract with a consulting group where I know a few people.”
Ross looked at the ashen faces before him.
“There was only one thing that was making me want to stay here – working with you and the rest of the team. You guys are brilliant, and we've done some great stuff together.”
“But Andy doesn't think it's worth keeping us together?”
“Look, James, Andy has an agenda that is all about him. Personally, I think he's got it wrong, and I can't believe Murray let him go down this path, but it is what it is. But we all have to make the best of it for ourselves, without getting carried away with whether we agree or disagree, or how angry we are. And that includes you two.”
Steve and James exchanged glances.
“As I said, I'm not supposed to be letting you know what's happening until later, but you deserve better than that. It all boils down to cost savings, and the budget and headcount that Andy has signed off for the new team will only cover one of you guys.”
“Are you serious? One loses their job, the other gets flogged to death doing the work of two?!” James was not usually the one to fire back first.
“Four actually, if you count the jobs that got cut last time around,” said Steve under increasingly tired looking eyes.
“Yes to all of that – but you know how these things work. You'll get letters later in the week, and then by the middle of next week you'll have to decide what jobs you're applying for, or if you're going to volunteer to take redundancy.”
“When it comes down to it, it's up to you. If you both apply for the new role, whoever is the new manager will have to decide who stays and who goes. If one decides to take redundancy and one decides to stay – it will be easier, but only if that's what you want.”
“If neither of us apply for the new r
ole?”
“Either way, the best performing team in the division will cease to exist,” said Steve.
Ross looked like his life force was slowly draining away. “Pretty much. Look, I wanted to give you two a couple of extra days, but you know you've got to keep this to yourselves, yeah?”
Steve and James nodded and took rather exaggerated deep breaths in perfect synchronisation – which made the three of them laugh.
“OK, I've got to get going. Happy to talk about the whole thing whenever you like – just grab me or call on the mobile. And Steve, don't drink all that Stench of Success at once, OK?”
They laughed again, and Ross grabbed his files, threw the door open and strode into the corridor.
They sat in silence for a moment. Steve got up and shut the door again.
“What do you think?” he said as he returned to his chair.
“I think it stinks. Every time things start to actually work – these fools have to meddle with it. Less than no idea.”
“What about you?” asked Steve.
James looked out the window for what seemed like a long time. “No idea. I'll see what's going on outside but I'm not sure there are too many jobs around. But the idea of staying here, working for someone other than Ross, and us not getting to work together, doesn't feel like a great option.”
“Same here. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.”
James turned back from the window, and they stared at each other for a while.
Steve cracked a grin first. “So, rock, paper, scissors?”
“You're on!”
The Project
The heady mix of odours from kebabs, curries and fried potato products was dissipating as the group who'd gathered in the lunch room did likewise. The laughter was replaced by an awkward silence between the two people who remained.
Peter had noticed that Madhu wasn't her usual self, not mixing in with the banter over lunch like she normally did. Having worked closely together for three years, they could sense if the other wasn't travelling well.
“You OK? You're a bit quieter than usual.”
She shrugged in reply, and looked down at the remnants of her lunch.
“I don't want to stick my nose in, but, you know, if you want . . .”