Moonliner: No Stone Unturned (8 page)

“A rock in Stanley Park, how exciting!” Kendra says.  “Does he say where it is?  I wanna hear the message.”

Beau rolls his eyes at the idea, but grabs the recorder and hits play.

              “If you can hear this, please hear me out,” plays out once again and Kendra listens attentively to Cedric’s entire message.

              “He sounds so serious,” she tells Beau after hearing the whole thing.

              “He’s some jackass,” Beau replies.

              “You’re always so negative,” Kendra says; “what if he actually is from the future?”

              “Yeah, what if?” Beau asks in return, knowing too well that Kendra doesn’t believe it any more than he does.  No, she’s just in it for its literary value.  She’s drawn to the sheer creativity of it; a message through time.  What could be more romantic?

              “Didn’t you mention going to Vancouver real soon for a tradeshow?” Kendra asks; “I think you should leave a message under the stone.”  

              “I’m not into geocaching,” Beau tells her.  “The tradeshow is NeoTech and I’m not going,” he adds.  “I mentioned it in a moment of panic over the layoffs, but I didn’t get laid off.  Besides,” he asks; “what am I supposed to leave under that stone for fifty-five years?”

              “Are you sure?” Kendra asks; “the layoffs might not be finished.”

              “I have it from a pretty good authority that they are,” Beau tells her, opening their patio door to let a little bracing morning air into the room.  He closes it almost immediately, however, upon feeling how cold the morning actually is.

              “Don’t forget to call your sister back,” Beau tells Kendra, changing topics; “and what would you like for dinner?” 

              “Surprise me,” she tells him; “but keep it simple and on budget.  I’m still worried about your job.”

              “Enough worrying about my job,” Beau replies; “I told you I’m not going to get laid off.”

Moonliner
2:03

The dryer weather prompts Beau to walk to work, which is just down the hill from his house and into the heart of Seattle’s Fremont district.  He hears a foghorn echo from a ferry crossing distant Elliot Bay.  It’s a common Seattle sound though far less frequently heard from Fremont, which gets a lot of maritime traffic from the Ballard locks and ship canal, but smaller vessels with smaller horns.

It’s getting lighter earlier and Beau can once again walk to work in daylight.  The sky is partly cloudy with the morning sun putting on a dazzling show of a softly shifting pink and blue atmosphere.  The city is awakening.

Beau arrives at work early and takes a little time to check his messages and finish scanning the headlines of his favorite news sites.  Stan, a co-worker whose cubical is back to back with Beau’s arrives for work a little early as well.  He hands Beau a five dollar bill.

              “What’s this for?” Beau asks.

              “Sochi,” Stan answers; “the gold medal hockey game.”

              “Oh, right,” Beau answers; “thanks, I’d forgotten all about the bet.”

              “Have you heard anything around the water cooler?” Stan asks Beau.

              “No, but Rachelle in accounting told me that she overheard Carter telling Mike Sterling that the cuts were deep but done,” Beau tells Stan, finger quoting
deep but done
. 

              “That’s good to hear, but I’ll still be a lot more comfortable when we go a single Friday without anyone losing their job,” Stan says.

              “Yeah me too!” Beau agrees.

Then out of nowhere Sherylin, the young, vibrant office assistant who works directly with the company president, pokes her head around the corner of Beau’s cubical.

              “Steve would like to see you in the conference room,” she tells Beau before vanishing down the hall.

Stan’s face drops.  He’s too easy to read.  They both know what this most likely means and it isn’t good news for Beau, who remains silent.

              “Maybe it’s nothing,” Stan tells him.

Beau nods at Stan and walks away, slowly down a hallway of dread and into the conference room, where three more of his colleagues are already sitting around a table, anxiously awaiting their fate.  Beau remains calm, almost as if he’s already accepted his.

              “How are you guys doing?” Beau asks, keeping the mood light.

              “Not bad,” Lane answers, another office tech who’s been there three years.

              “I’m alright,” Sidell adds, a software programmer for the company.

              “Is this what I think it is,” Lane boldly asks the others.

              “I think so,” Beau answers; “it’s how the others were told.”

              “Companies always fire people on Fridays,” Sidell says. 

Rodney, the other remaining guy in the room doesn’t say anything.  He just sits silently staring at the table.  The others fall silent too. You can hear the seconds tick by on a clock on the wall at the front of the room.  Seconds become minutes, and minutes turn into hours. 

Finally, in walks Steve Carter, the office manager with a somber look on his face.  He sits down at the long conference table with the men.  The room is quiet for a moment before Steve lays into the bad news.

              “I’m sorry guys,” he says; “due to cutbacks we’ve gotta let you go.”  The room stays silent.

              “You said yourself that the cuts were done,” Sidell says somewhat angrily.

              “I know and I’m sorry,” Carter tells them; “I honestly thought they were.”

After another minute of silence and nothing left to say, the men get up to leave.  To their surprise, a security guard is there to escort them out of the building, also part of the company policy.  They’re allowed to immediately grab whatever they need from their desks, but are told to schedule a time with the guard to return over the weekend to clean out their desks.  Fortunately, Beau has a streamlined desk and is able to grab everything he wants to keep in one swoop.   He doesn’t need to return.

              “Keep your chin up Beau.  There’s gotta be a lot more work out there to find,” Stan tells him as he stuffs his shoulder bag with personal effects.

              “Thanks Stan.  I’ll be alright,” Beau tells him. 

Beau pats Stan on the shoulder, grabs his shoulder bag and takes his final stroll down the office hall with a security guard escort.  Outside, the sun has broken through the clouds and the day is warming.  Beau takes a deep breath of the fresh ocean air and smiles.  An unexpected, warm sensation comes over him, now feeling reborn.

He takes one last hard look at the building in which he’s worked for five years, then walks away.  He’s on his way to rendezvous with fellow former co-workers Lane, Sidell, & Rodney for beer, billiards, and a little friendly banter to lighten the mood.  Why not?  It’s not like he has anywhere to be. 

Moonliner
2:04

              “Seven in the corner pocket,” Rodney says just before missing his shot. 

              “You guys are here a little early in the day,” Max, the owner of the bar and grill asks just as he appears in the pool room to take their order.

              “We got shit-canned,” Lane says; “let go!”

              “I’m sorry to hear it,” Max tells them; “Just now?” 

              “Yes,” Sidell answers; “right after we show up for work.”

              “I’ve heard that’s how they do it,” Max says.

The place is largely empty except for a few guys sitting at the bar having breakfast.  They’re wearing Dickies overalls and steel-toed boots, as if their work is laborious.  Neither of them appears to be interested in conversation.  They look tired; not sleepy, just tired, probably facing another hard day of work. 

Max starts the jukebox, which randomly selects tunes until somebody overrides it with a paid selection.  The machine starts playing
Bittersweet Symphony
as a young waitress named Kelli brings the jobless pool players their first pitcher of ale.  Suddenly, nothing seems urgent anymore.

              “Nine years,” Rodney says; “nine long years with the same stinking company.  Then one Friday morning my job is gone.”

              “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Lane suggests.

              “I’m starting to think that it is,” Beau optimistically adds; “we’ll find something better out there.  It’s nothing to take personally; we’re all good at what we do.  It’s a shifting industry.”

              “I hope you guys are right; I just bought a new condo,” Rodney adds.

The sun breaks from behind a cloud, lighting up the room.  Parched from years of corporate exploitation, the men sink the first pitcher within a few short minutes.  They flag Keli down and request a second, along with an order of macho nachos.  Time is losing meaning by the moment.  A few more people enter the place, then seat themselves at a table by the window.

              “They’re farming the tech section out to a company in India is what I heard,” Sidell says, leaning on his pool cue, holding a pint.

              “That so blows,” Lane says, lining up a shot.  Seconds later, he sinks the two in the side pocket.

              “Have any of you followed any job leads lately?” Beau asks the others.

              “No, but there’s a NeoTech tradeshow in Vancouver next weekend.  There’s also a webinar in a few weeks, and a firmware trade fair here sometime in March,” Sidell says; “and it’s your shot,” he tells Beau.

              “Are we shooting the eight?” Beau asks Rodney.  Rodney nods yes.  Beau slowly lines up to drop the eight in the corner.  It’s not a straight shot by any means.  In fact, it’s about a thirty-five degree angle.  After two minutes of careful alignment, the line is in his sight and he’s finally ready to shoot.  Lined up, he rolls his head sideways to look at the guys, then smiles wide and sinks a no-look shot.

              “That was closer this time,” Lane says.  “Shall I rack em’?”

A few hours later, the men step out of the bar. 

“Cause every little things gonna be alright,” Rodney and Lane sing along with Bob Marley and the blaring jukebox.

Once outside, the door shuts behind them, entombing their good time and landing them back in the jobless world, now not only with the reality of losing a job, but an impending hangover as well.

The men stand outside the bar laughing and chatting for several minutes, down inside not wanting to face their wives or families.  Finally, they go their separate ways.  Beau, already closer than to home than any of them, decides to hang around the area before walking home.