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Nation of Airports 2.4
Wednesday she woke early but felt sluggish. She skipped her cards and forced herself to shower and leave, her only breakfast a protein bar. Traffic was heavy, but after Falls Church the Toll Road flowed steadily, and she made it to work before nine.
In the office Wanda the admin scuttled around the cubicles, putting memos on chairs. "All-hands in Teller," she told Elisabeth sourly. "Ten o'clock. I put a memo under your door." When the meeting started Elisabeth had a backup of her computer files in her jacket pocket.
It wasn't quite that bad.
A bright-eyed well-groomed man from Human Resources -- "just call me Pak," he said winningly, after his long Thai name -- delivered the news. Client Support was to be merged with Network Support, and both were to be moved under the control of Strategic Planning, headquartered in Boston. There were questions.
"The details are still being worked out," said Pak.
"Some jobs might be relocated to Boston," said Pak.
"In any merger, there are, regrettably, redundancies," said Pak.
"Of course, we're happy to meet privately to discuss any concerns," he added, his face sweet and guileless. Marcus grandstanded after that, but behind his homilies about how businesses go through changes his eyes bobbed around listlessly.
No wonder. Boston belonged to Magda Crane, and Magda Crane was an evil bitch.
Elisabeth had visited Boston twice for her old project. The people had impressed her, both with their knowledge and their openness to sharing information. But it was not a free-wheeling place. More than once Elisabeth had asked about an interesting solution never executed or an innovative product never developed. Each time, the engineer said, "Ms. Crane saw a need to redirect our priorities," with a look like a beaten dog. Now she owned Client Support, just the kind of fatty growth that Magda Crane would love to slice off.
Elisabeth figured she had a lull of about an hour while everyone digested the news. Then Marcus would be all over his great-important-teamwork-team for more useless project reports to justify themselves. Elisabeth went out to the small grassy hillside behind the back of the office. It was a bright, summery day, much warmer than the day before, and the brown plastic benches were already uncomfortably hot. She lit a cigarette and paced in the shade of a small maple just beginning to put out leaves. She began composing her resume in her head.
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