Odd Job

There was once a blessed man who worked in the land of Manhattan. He had a good gig in a one of those tall office buildings ascending through the clouds. He got away with a lot of questionable behavior while on the clock. His co-workers tolerated him, since he did a good job. The one day a new hire suggested to him that the only reason he remained employed was due to a personal relationship with the Big Boss. The Boss protected him, looked out for him, apologized for him. But the new hire told the blessed man that things were changing. A major merger with a Japanese conglomerate would alter the way everyone here did business, including the Big Boss. 

 

The blessed man doubted anything would change. The new hire taunted him, claming he’d quit if the Big Boss was no longer there for him. That’s when things got confusing. 

It started with a paper jam. The blessed man hadn’t seen a paper jam in years. He hadn’t needed to print anything in years. But there it was, jammed all the same. Then came network outages, the sputtering connectivity of paltry WiFi. He forgot what a modem sounded like. Then chairs were missing. The desks were gone after that. It seemed no one cleaned the office either. In the old days, you could set your watch to the whirring vacuums and soaking mops that commenced every night at 7 sharp. 

His studio-grade headphones were gone. The noodles he put in the fridge were missing, too. They were sesame and quite delicious, but now they somewhere else. He walked into a conference room one day to find the meeting had already happened, hours before. Someone had rescheduled it without telling him. The lights started to flicker more than usual. He ran through the halls looking for someone to tell a provocative joke to before finding an adequate audience. When he arrived on the punchline, the person waved him away, “no English.” He couldn’t seem to get a rise out of anyone. The windows fogged up, going uncleaned except for the occasional rainstorm. He was asked to run errands way uptown, ride a bicycle, and get strangers to sign documents in cramped foyers.

He begged the Big Boss to fire him. But his emails to that effect bounced back. He went to the top floor and found the Big Boss’s desk cleared out, like he had never worked there. Some people blamed the economy. He didn’t feel too blessed. Still, every two weeks his bank account received the same direct deposit. So something was working, even if he wasn’t. 

Just fire me, he begged. HR called him in and said he was getting a promotion. It would be more work. He didn’t want more work. He wanted his old job back with its perks and oodles of downtime. He said he had to think it over. 

 

He met up with three friends at a bar around the corner. They’d all quit their jobs, discovering newfound salvation and peace. The first friend counseled him to give up and move on with his life. The second friend said he didn’t owe the company a thing, especially not now. The third friend questioned his loyalty to the Big Boss, considering his salary was a fraction of his. But maybe it was all a misunderstanding or a test of faith. The three friends were speechless. The Big Boss raked in 25 million last year and he had a mortgage. He respectfully disagreed with his buddies, explaining to them how the Big Boss loved him and one new perk was that he didn't have to wear a suit and tie to work. In fact, he was shirtless most days. 

The blessed man knew it wasn’t easy, but he also knew he wasn’t qualified. He didn’t want to go back out on the job market. He was lucky to have a job.