The Boss With No Spine!

 


Back in the days of old (no cell phones, no email), I worked in a New York City sales office, for a guy who just could not stand confrontation. He told me once that he'd almost rather die than fire someone. But sometimes he had to. This is how he went about it.

The occasion I best remember was the case of a woman named Pat. Ken (the boss) instructed me as follows. He wrote Pat a letter of dismissal, signed it, had me put it in a sealed envelope with her name on it. Then, he got hold of Pat on the phone and told her he'd gotten an appointment for her with a prospective client, for Thursday afternoon, around 3:30. This was a legitimate appointment; he had spoken to the prospect and it was set. However, just to cover himself, he kindly told Pat that if the prospect wasn't there or cancelled, she should "beat the rush-hour traffic" and just go home early. Who could resist such an offer?

Meanwhile, Ken booked a flight for Thursday afternoon, when he expected Pat to be meeting with the prospect. It was either a flight to California or some other far-off locale, or it was a flight with multiple stops and connections. Regardless, it guaranteed that he'd be in the air for hours and hours, and impossible to reach.

Then, he told me to wait until close of business on Thursday, when I'd usually be leaving the office. I was to have my coat on, shut off the phones and other end-of-day routines, and only when I was absolutely done and ready to walk out the door, should I leave the sealed envelope in Pat's office, on her chair, which was where we typically left important correspondence so the person could not overlook it. If, for some reason, Pat came back to the office unexpectedly while I was still there, I was to hold the letter back and call the airline's VIP lounge, which, other than his home or the hotel, was the only place I could reach Ken. 

Well, sure enough, Pat had met with the prospect; she came back to the office in an upbeat mood, intending to write up a report on what they had discussed. I made the call, got hold of Ken, and told him that Pat had come back to the office. 

"Damn!" he replied. "Okay, sit tight. Pat's going to get a call in a minute or so, and when she leaves, you can put the letter on her chair, and then you go home, and I want you to take tomorrow off. Sick day or vacation day, whatever you want to call it, I'll authorize it." 

Here's how he got Pat out of the office. He called the main number, which I answered. He apparently had asked or even paid someone to make this call and identify themselves as Pat's apartment building manager. They told Pat there was a fire where she lived. Unsurprisingly, she hurried out of her office, repeating this "information." I told her good luck and she was gone. I left the sealed envelope on her chair for her to find the next morning. Went home, and enjoyed a nice paid three-day weekend. 

Going back in Monday, Ken was still gone on his trip, and Pat was gone permanently. Pat's typist gave me a letter for Ken, full of anger and assertions that Pat did not deserve to be fired, and it was a good thing the company was giving her a severance package, etc. I suppose the letter could have been slid under Ken's office door (he had made sure to lock it when he left, in case Pat decided to set his desk on fire), but she wanted me to read it to him over the phone. Such fun. I went into Pat's vacant office, closed the door, and called Ken at the hotel that I knew he'd booked at his destination. Read him the letter. He heaved a sigh. "Now you see why I didn't want either of us to be in the office when she found the letter. I'm sure she was able to think about it over the weekend, and she's probably out there pounding the pavement for another job." Better than pounding our heads was no doubt what he was really thinking.

Ken himself was on the receiving end of a pink slip a year or so later. His boss, a blustery Midwesterner, came in, said hello, went into Ken's office, closed the door, and was back out not long afterward, still wearing his coat and hat. "See ya, Vol-E," he said, and exited briskly. 

A few minutes later, an ashen-faced Ken came staggering out of his office. "Well," he rasped, "Don just fired me." 

No doubt, Don was already at the airport, or perhaps he had checked himself into the Witness Protection Program...

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