Fiction - Outsourced - Part 2
When her job is outsourced, Meg's world is turned upside down. Struggling to find stability, she navigates the challenges of unemployment, self-doubt, and an unraveling relationship.
If you haven’t yet, start with Part 1
OUTSOURCED
– Shannon McNamara –
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Outsourced © 2008 Shannon McNamara. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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– CHAPTER 2 –
My head began to pound, and I broke out in a sweat. The last thing I needed right now was to be job hunting with fifteen other people. I had been working for the company for four freaking years. It wasn’t that I loved my job, but I liked the people, and I have bills to pay.
There was a slight murmur going around, half the room was in shock and disbelief, the sales reps were heaving a collective sigh of “thank God it wasn’t me.” Mary looked like someone had sucked all the wind right out of her. She had retreated to a chair behind the table she had been standing in front of earlier.
“Now let me ask a question here that everyone is thinking.” There was a slight shrill in the voice coming from the front of the room.
“Sure, can I get your name, and I’ll do my best to answer.” I officially loathed this man.
“Oh Bobby, Bobby McNeil, I’m the proofreader.” Bobby stood up from his chair. He was wearing an old Celtics t-shirt and had a Boston Red Sox hat that was trying to keep a head full of orange hair under control. I wish I had a better seat.
George sat back down in the chair. Good for him, wouldn’t want him to get all sorts of tired standing up there fielding questions from the likes of us.
“Well, basically, how much of a raise are you getting by canning all of us? I mean, seriously, it’s got to take some balls to pack a suitcase and get on a plane to stand up there right now. You fire us; you get a big fat bonus at the end of the year for being the hero that saved the company a couple of bucks. So, how much was it to make me have to go home tonight, fire up monster.com, and update my resume?” Bobby sat down, and the room went deathly silent.
I raised my hand.
Mary looked in my direction. As the minutes progressed it became abundantly clear that she was going the way of graphics production and seriously didn’t give a shit what any of us wanted to ask him.
“Yes, Meg,” she looked at me, wondering what on earth I could possibly add to what had just been said.
“Oh, I just wanted to state that that was my question as well. Also, I wanted to know how soon I have to start looking. What exactly is the time frame, Mr. Plein?”
George looked a little paler than he had a couple of minutes ago. I assumed that with this newfound whitewash, there was sure to be some sweat and accompanying body odor that he would notice in a few hours upon returning to the hotel bar to throw down a few.
“Well, I’m not at liberty to discuss my pay scale, for obvious reasons, one being it’s against company policy, and the other being, quite frankly, I don’t feel that it’s any of your business. Secondly, we plan on phasing in the overseas company in two weeks. They will set up shop here starting tomorrow when one of their guys arrives here to train with you…”
“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Danny stood up straight and voiced his opinion for the first time since this whole fiasco started. “I have to train the guy who is coming in and taking my job? That’s bullshit, no, don’t try and quiet me,” he shot a look at Mary, who had started to stand, then decided against it and sat back down.
“Why should I train some guy who’s coming in here to put me out of work? Why don’t you train him? You’re the one who wants him to take my job, so you train him.”
I clapped as he sat back down on the table. Pretty soon, everyone else started too. It was like one of those movie moments, when everyone in the room finally comes together for the same cause. Only this time, we had all banded together over something other than the free pizza in the lunchroom.
Mr. Plein paced around a bit for a moment, scratching his chin.
“Well, I get that you feel this way. That is understandable, however, if you wish to keep your job for the next two weeks and to collect your severance pay, which was the point I was getting to next before I was interrupted, you will help train.” He shot Danny a look that said, ‘How about them apples?’, and cleared his throat for the umpteenth time.
“As for the severance pay, every employee will get two weeks of pay for every year they have been employed with AdSmart. So, we at AdSmart feel that this is worth your cooperation. Agreed?”
George sat back down. Apparently, this had given him the feeling of empowerment over us. It’s amazing what you’ll do for the weekly stipend of a paycheck they dole out. Unfortunately, the Jeep wasn’t paid for, I had rent, and I loved to eat. Looks like I’d be helping everyone else hold down the fort.
“So, when are we closing?”
“Two weeks from today,” George replied, grabbing his suitcase and hurrying for the door.
He opened it, and without a goodbye or offer to field any other questions, left the room.
“Well screw you too,” Jay yelled and balled up a piece of paper, which he hurled at the closed door.
Two weeks. Well, there were really two ways to look at this, I figured. The eight weeks pay, based on my four years with the company, could be a summer vacation, and then I’d search for a job in September. Or maybe I’d pack my bags, and Brian and I could tour Europe. That would be fun. See the Louvre, Italy, and the Eiffel Tower. Then the reality that he and I had no money, nor had even toured the beach down the street, set in, and I realized I’d probably spend the summer with the dog.
The sales reps all gave each other a look that was some sort of secret code and began to file out of the room. Their jobs were saved. The company wasn’t going to get rid of the people who brought in the money. As with most places, only the people they felt cost money. We were expendable. Every time we had ever been asked to stay late, do the impossible, get the work out, we had been the very people who had done it, and for what? A lousy eight-week paycheck and don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.
“Well,” Mary started. She looked a little lost, I could tell she wanted to try and rally the troops, however, she was losing sight of what the true meaning of the battle was.
“That was a lot to take in. I’m sure none of you are in any mood to work today, and honestly, I can’t say that I blame you. We’re pretty caught up as far as this production week, and it is Friday. How about if everyone takes the rest of the day off? I’ll finagle the time clock; don’t worry about using vacation or sick time. We’ll start again on Monday. I honestly did not know any of this was coming, and I’m in the same boat as you. I’m sure we will all be ok.” She looked at this point as though she might cry. It was understandable. We could find work at another company doing graphic design. She was upper management at a larger company that had molded her into her position over the years. She was going to have a tougher time than the rest of us. I kind of felt sorry for her for the first time in the four years I had worked here.
I gave her a small smile and got one back.
On the way out of the conference room, I made a pit stop at the bathrooms. The coffee had raced right through me, and I felt a bit faint from all the commotion.
After exiting the stall, I stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes.
You’re going to be fine, you’re going to be fine, you’re going to be fine. You love the beach, you love the beach, you love the beach. Brian will be supportive, Brian will be supportive, Brian will be supportive. I didn’t feel the need to cry, I didn’t particularly enjoy my job, and this was probably the only thing that was going to get me out of it. I was just worried about going home and explaining to Brian that I was soon to be unemployed, and would you like to maybe pay the rent in full for a couple of months, just in case? I felt a little bit like the kid who got a bad report card and had to bring it home right before summer vacation.
I walked back over to my desk and plopped myself down at my computer. Defeated. Danny’s head came up over the cubicle partition.
“Hey, a bunch of us are going to head over to McDowell’s later tonight, want to go?”
McDowell’s was the favored after-work hangout for Danny and a bunch of other AdSmart employees. Danny and Bobby rented a house with another guy from graphics named Nick, which was within walking distance to the bar. It took the need to designate a driver out of the equation.
“I dunno,” I could use a drink, but I really wanted to just take a bubble bath, sit on the couch with a nice cup of hot cocoa, and ponder the meaning of life tonight.
“I think I’m just going to go home and see if Brian wants to be a sweetheart and take me out to dinner, seeing as I’ve had such a tough day.”
He shot me a look and rolled his eyes. My boyfriend was not very loved amongst my male friends. I think it had started at the Christmas party two years back when they saw him get really drunk and hit on Shelly in accounting.
“Yeah, good luck with that. Maybe he’ll propose too and tell you not to worry, everything is ok, and he’s going to take care of you.”
I picked up a handful of paperclips and bounced them off his grim mug.
He smirked one more time and went back over the wall.
“If you change your mind, you know where we are!”
Jay was at the door, holding it open for me and we went down together.
“Going to McDowell’s?”
He was dressed in his usual uniform consisting of a t-shirt and jeans. I have known Jay my entire life, we have history. I also know he does not own a button-down shirt with a collar. I began to think about how he might need one to go on a job interview. He has a goatee and his ear is pierced. He has tattoos and is not the person at first appearance that you would ever think to bring home to meet your mother. He swears like a trucker and honestly doesn’t care to make a great first impression. Our parents had been best friends, which meant we spent many days and nights playing and having sleepovers. Then, in high school, his parents died in a car accident, and his older sister had to step in. We stayed friends, but once I started dating Brian, things weren’t really the same with us. The girls loved him, and he was always dating a different one. I couldn’t keep them all straight. I’m guessing neither could he, seeing as they didn’t stick around for long. At the last Christmas party, he had a little too much to drink and went up to someone else’s date, thinking it was his, and asked her if she was ready to go home. Danny and I got a good giggle for a couple of months out of that disaster.
“No, I think I’m gonna head home and relax. What time were you guys planning on going?”
“Now. We figured, in light of current circumstances, we should turn this into an all-day drinking affair. Bastards. Ten years I’ve been with this company. Those damn commie bastards.”
I felt as though I should explain to him that this had nothing to do with communism, but there would have been no point.
We exited through the fire door. The alarm hadn’t worked since I had started working at the company. Jay was actually the person who got me the interview. I had gotten burnt out doing design at our local newspaper and needed a change and a friendlier atmosphere. For the last four years, AdSmart has been the place. The work sucked, but the friends were great.
Jay hopped on his bike and gave me a little wave, and I hopped in my Jeep and returned it.
I drove all the way home, talking to myself, trying to find the best way to break the not-so-nice news.
“So, how was your day today? Mine, oh, good, I got outsourced, pass the ketchup…”
There was really no good way to put it.
“Ugh, great.”
I pulled onto my street. Crowded as usual. It seemed that no matter the time of the day or night, there was never a place to park within a square mile of my duplex.
We live on a tree-lined street in a quiet part of the north side of town. It’s pretty much younger families just starting out or retired couples that have owned their properties since the baby boomers were born.
The trees are mature and blooming, the houses all at least forty or fifty years old, with neat little front lawns and driveways that hold about one and a half cars. Seeing as the typical American family now owns two or more cars, this causes quite a parking conundrum.
My house is a weathered yellow duplex about four houses down from the main road. There is a park down the street, and I’m only ten minutes’ walking distance from the beach. This ups the rents in the area, but it is totally worth it to be near the ocean. It’s also great for my dog. On Saturdays, I walk her and meet up with other puppies for a game of ball, then go for a quick swim before returning home.
I drove up and saw that there was a red convertible with its top down, parked in the spot I had been in this morning.
“Of course, why would there be parking. There is nothing I would rather do than walk four miles back to my freaking apartment.” I scowled at myself in the rearview mirror and stomped on the gas.
My house is a throwback to the sixties or seventies, small front yard with grass that seemed to die off more and more each year, and a really large oak tree that blocked the picture window in the living room. We have a large front porch that I keep meaning to buy a porch swing for. It’s shared between the two tenants; however, from the outside, you can’t even tell that the other side is inhabited. An older woman in her sixties lives next door, her name is Jane, and she never comes out. The curtains are always drawn and appear to be some avocado pattern circa 1972.
There’s a driveway on the right side of the house that always seems to be occupied by Jane’s car. Seeing as it is always parked there, I assume she doesn’t work, and shops only at night after I am in bed. Or she is a bitch and uses public transportation forcing me to lug grocery bags down the street.
In the two years we have lived here, I’ve seen Jane a grand total of four times. Who knows, maybe I’m not neighborly enough. One of these days, I’ll stop by to borrow sugar.
I found a spot a couple of houses down and dragged my defeated body out of the vehicle. Meandering down the street as though I were waiting to be scolded by someone when I got home, I skipped over cracks in the sidewalk and swung my purse from side to side. I’m sure I look like a deranged, oversized child.
I know this will pass, and a few months after the whole thing is over, I’ll look back and laugh at how upset I was, or actually wasn’t. I’m not upset at losing my job, because it’s not my fault. I’m upset at not seeming upset when I go tell Brian. I need to have some sort of a plan within a week or two, because I’m sure taking the summer off and spending it at the beach might not go over so well. It borders on being irresponsible or something like that. So maybe I’ll take a couple of classes at the Community College, learn some new stuff, then go out and find a job after that.
“See, now there’s a plan for ya. See, what am I so worried about?” I looked around from side to side to make sure none of my neighbors were outside or at their windows watching me talk to myself.
Sometimes it feels like Brian looks down on me. Honestly, some days I don’t know if he does or if I’m being overly sensitive. We are completely different. Different likes, different careers, different ideas on marriage. We started dating ten years ago. At some point, I really want him to just put a ring on it.
We had met in college at some party where I was way too intoxicated, and he was way too charming. After a few years of dorm life, we decided to take the next obvious step and rent a shitty apartment together. For the most part, things have been pretty predictable. We don’t fight that often, but then again, we don’t discuss anything that is of much importance either. This is where “the marriage problem” comes in. I bring it up, he promptly changes the subject. I don’t know if he’s opposed or thinks that if he just avoids it long enough, it will go away. Therefore, the only thing I have to daydream about these days is trying to commit to a thirty-year mortgage. Do they have Pinterest boards for that? Meanwhile, I’m aware there is some feminist out there right now dying to get her hands around my little neck and squeeze hard.
When we met, he was in his last year of law school. Apparently, a couple of buddies of his had talked him into going out with them that evening for some drinking and slumming at the local Irish pub. I was quite the regular there during that time and was sitting at the far end of the bar when he came in. I didn’t even notice him at first, but my friend Melissa did. She was laughing at how he was too well dressed for our humble establishment, and remarked at what the Porsche dealer had dragged in. I looked over, mildly intrigued at that point, and saw him standing there, looking a little bit lost in the hustle and bustle of the pub. His friends had grabbed a table, and he had sat down and ordered a Guinness. When in Rome. He was wearing a pair of khakis that were neatly pressed and a striped button-down shirt. I was guessing he’d lost the tie on the way out of the car. His other friends were dressed similarly and were milling around the pool table, waiting for the guys there to finish up their game.
I had a secret conference with my best friend in the whole world, Melissa, and we both decided I should go over there. I took my drink over to the pool table near some friends of mine. I chatted with them a bit, out of the corner of my eye, checking Brian out. He hadn’t even noticed me, which is the usual reaction I get when it comes to men.
I tend to blend in. I’ve never been the type to go out of my way to try and get attention. I’m a jeans and a t-shirt girl.
Brian’s friends headed back over to the bar, and I casually sauntered over to the table.
“Hi, I’m Meg, you must be new around here because this is the first time I’ve seen you at this place. I’m here every night, well I mean, I’m not an alcoholic or anything, I just come here after school and hang out, see people, then go home, um, yeah anyways, what’s your name?” Really, with an introduction like that, it was amazing that I was single. I quickly brushed it off and sat down across from him. He just stared at me like I was from another planet, and he was not quite sure how to take my forward introduction.
“I’m Brian, and yes, this is my first time here. Do you know if the bathrooms are clean?”
I responded that they were, and he got up. What a weirdo.
I watched him walk away and did a mental head slap, and got up from the table to meet Melissa back at the bar.
“Well, that was quite possibly a record in how long it takes you to scare a man off. Although, quite frankly, he didn’t seem to be your type, even after a couple of beers and from over here.” I shrugged at her and ordered myself another drink.
Somewhere between the hours of ten o’clock that evening and when the bar closed, I must have reconciled with Brian because I woke up the next morning in his bed, and my underwear was missing. I guess you can say that the rest is history because we have been dating ever since.
He has since graduated from law school and has a great job at a local law firm in the area. This job is complete with important clients, banquet dinners for various political figures in town, and expensive suits. Needless to say, he is a highly regarded up-and-coming lawyer in the area.
It wasn’t very often that I was asked to attend functions with him. It wasn’t that I couldn’t hold my own. I would go, smile, nod, and listen to their talk of land mergers and how they planned on using their money to one day take over the world for the greater good of the rich man. I didn’t enjoy going, and I think that’s why eventually he stopped asking and started going on his own. Brian didn’t say it, but I think he was aware that I wasn’t going to ever play the trophy role. Most of the other wives relished in this part. They spoke of their various charities and golf games and how their little Timmy was getting into the most expensive and highly sought-after pre-school. Not being asked to partake was fine by me. I despised wearing heels and dresses. I had over the years accumulated a large array of designer gowns and designer shoes whose sole purpose was to wow Brian’s clients into wanting to trust their business or personal livelihood in his dutiful hands.
If it were up to me, I’d be dressed in jeans and a nice top at such an event. At least then I’d be honest. I felt like a fraud in front of these people. But instead, he just stopped inviting me, and I spent those nights at home curled up on the couch with a good book and my dog. That was the way I’d rather spend my evenings anyway. My feet tended to hurt less in the morning, and I didn’t have the accompanying hangover headache.
Whenever it had come up, Brian would make up some fancy story about what I did for work. I didn’t care that I designed coupons. It was a job that paid the bills. However, Brian felt it was more respectable to say that I was in advertising or marketing. He once told a client that I was an artist. He quit that right quick when the guy asked where he could see my most recent works, and I answered in this week’s flyer. Harry’s Meat Market was having its annual ten-for-ten-dollar sale. It was a sale not to be missed. This Saturday only at Harry’s!
After what seemed like an eon of stalling, I finally reached the front of my house. The curtains were drawn on the living room window. The weather was so nice out today, I should open all the windows in the house and let some of the breeze in. It was in the seventies, which is warm for May in New England.
I got to the front door and turned the knob.
Locked.
Great. I had thrown my keys in my purse and tried to fish around for them when I heard barking coming from the backyard.
I went around back, and there she was, my pride and joy.
I am one of those crazy people you hear about. The one’s who buy their dogs cute little outfits and take them for rides around town, just because they like it. The people who bake them special doggie cakes for their birthdays and take them to PetCo and let them sift through the toy bin till they find the perfect toy for the week. However, I don’t have a little foo-foo dog. I have a boxer. Fifty-five pounds of muscle, love, and wiggles.
A boxer who was very, very upset that she was in her kennel in the backyard.
“Neesy!” I yelled when she came bounding to the fence.
Neesy was four years old, brindle with little patches of white on her toes and her chest. She was a little petite as far as boxers go. I had gotten her at eight weeks old, and it had been love ever since. I honestly don’t know how I ever went through life without her.
At the moment, she was in her pen and covered in dirt. We had decided, because our yard wasn’t fenced in, to put up a small dog pen. This made for a great doggie pee and poop area, however, not much of a play area for an animal that needs more exercise than your run of the mill marathoner.
I walked through the gate and unlatched the lock on the pen. She came out, turned, looked at the house, and let out a growl.
There is a back door with three small steps that lead into the kitchen. The one thing I don’t like about the house. No back deck. We had set up a small grill and patio set in the grass off to the side, however, I always dreamed of having a house that I could throw great Fourth of July parties at and entertain guests. Probably why I was so ready to finally take the plunge into home ownership. Although that was put on the back burner today.
“Wow, you’re pretty mad at Brian today, aren’t you?” I referred to myself as her mom when speaking for her; however, Brian was still Brian. He never wanted a dog and spent every waking moment bitching about how we needed to get rid of her. I told him the only reason why she ate his things and peed on his side of the bed was because he refused to show her any love. It wasn’t that she wasn’t disciplined; it was that she sensed his contempt for her.
However, right now she was growling and barking like I’d never seen her do in my life. She had her two front paws planted on the top step with her back paws straddling the second and third steps and her muzzle buried deep into the crack of the door where the hinge met the wall. She was sniffing and growling like if she tried hard enough, she could will it to open with her nose. Sniff, puff of air out, sniff, puff of air out.
I ran after her, and the door swung open.
“Brian!”
Only it wasn’t me yelling.
I stopped dead in my tracks, and Neesy looked back, with a “see!” look on her face.
“That goddamn dog got out of the pen! She’s at the back door; go put her back in there.”
I was frozen, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. Who was this woman, and what was she doing in my house?
The door opened all the way, and it all became abundantly clear.
Brian stood there with his mouth wide open, wearing nothing but the underwear I had bought him for last Valentine’s Day. His dirty blonde hair was glistening in the sun as though he had just taken a shower. His blue eyes were wide open with a faint look of fear. He just stood there looking at me, trying to form words with his half-open mouth.
Behind him was a skinny blonde wearing nothing but my blanket.
Wait a goddamn minute.
My blanket! My favorite blanket, actually. The white one that stayed on the couch so I could curl up with it at night while I watched my favorite shows on television. My mother had gotten me that blanket two Christmases ago, and I had used it religiously every day while unwinding from yet another aggravating day at the coupon factory. What was this undressed woman doing standing in the middle of my kitchen wearing my blanket?
I still couldn’t move.
There are times when you talk with your girlfriends about what you would do if you ever caught your man cheating. You will go on and on about how you’d go in there and kick that girls ass and how she would never see it coming. About how you would castrate your boyfriend or kick him so hard he would never be able to bear children.
I had said all these things. Yet here I was standing in the middle of the yard with my mouth open, rooted to the ground like a tree.
Brian closed the door behind him, and I heard a scurry of feet across the kitchen floor. That’s the good and the bad thing about old houses; they don’t hide any secrets. You can hear everything.
Right now, from the sound of it, she was padding her way through my kitchen, down the hallway, and into my bathroom.
Ahh, gripping way to end the chapter. I’m so stressed for her.