I’ve only been in the industry for a little over a year, and the Executive board, along with the managers and directors, brings me into the Executive Conference Room and fires me. Or invites me to pursue interests outside the company, interests that will suit my needs.

But I won’t.

I won’t pursue the greater existence, the writing career of my dreams. My goals of plunging into Corporate America were worthy, suicidal. I am an artist, not a Corporate Guru. But, I maintained a corporate work ethic that was as true as a perfect slice of ice that covers a calm pond on a Winter's Day. Then the ice melted.

I worked real hard in college, scraping by, studying hard. I didn’t want to just graduate and get a degree, only to live in poverty in some dusty, dirty apartment with heroin addicts and cock roaches as roommates, typing on an old 286 and hoping that the novel flies high, that I can get out of this dump, possibly live in the mountains of New Hampshire and write for life.

Instead, I became a whore.

I sent out resumes and got a job as a Technical Writer for a high powered and highly successful telecommunications manufacturer. I'd work during the day, make tons of dough, write for life at night. And someday, I'd get out of this insane asylum, with all its coke heads and corporate cock roaches and live in the mountains of New Hampshire and write for life. The President doesn't see it that way.

"We have to let you go off and pursue your other options," the President says to me. The Executive staff, including all the managers and directors sit around the table, but look down. They are ashamed of themselves. "We've decided to go in another direction. Your services are no longer needed in this company." He has a New York accent, though he is short, not a very big individual with the exception of his stomach. He owns one of those Scotch and soda bellies.

"I don't understand," I say. "I've worked hard here, I've enjoyed working here," I lie. "Everyone has commended me for my work, I don't understand what's going on here. I have a schedule slated for the end of the year, and even more projects after that." I’m starting to feel a little nervous, but also the excitement of spending tomorrow at the beach.

"Sometimes, Robert, sometimes companies need to go into another direction then they originally plan," the President says. "We've re-examined our financial outlook, and by pursing things in a different mannerism...." I zone out. I’m trying to figure if I should feel happy or depressed.

I pack my office. I sign a few forms in HR and turn in my passcard. The director is pleasant. She whispers. She is careful. She doesn't want me to go postal. I leave the building with thoughts running wild in my head.

I want to run back in the building and speak my case. I understood that I was a valuable asset to the company. I am only one of two writers, I write the books on software and someone else writes the books on hardware. The company can't be wiping out building software all together, you need software to run the hardware. There is plenty of work for the two of us, they can't be passing all the work on one writer. And there are a team of software engineers in the building. But I seem to be the only one headed out the door. I keep looking for others packing boxes. No one is packing. Everyone is working, like I should be doing.

I can tell this all to the Executive Board, I can tell this to the President. But I’m not going to, I’ll just walk to my car and leave.

My old boss, the one who hired me for the writing job a little over a year and a half ago drags me out for drinks. "I seem to feel worse, and I've only been gone six or seven hours. Does it get better?" I ask.

"Never," she says. "At best, it stays the same."

"I can’t understand what I might have done wrong," I say.

Cathy sighs and looks down at the table. "I wanted to warn you that this was going to happen, but I hoped that by keeping you clear of any fire, maybe things would work themselves out. They didn’t." She takes another swig of her beer. "Here’s what happened.

"Your former President never liked you, He wanted me to get rid of you months and months ago, long before He forced me out." Cathy is a casualty of war like me. "He never liked college grads making their start in His company, that’s why most of the people there are in their thirties and forties. Personally, I and a lot of the people there feel that we as a company need to be well rounded. Include all ages and experience levels.

"He doesn’t see it that way. He also didn’t see the positive impact your energy carried in the company."

"What do you mean?"

"Robert, you have a great youthful energetic voice. People loved having that romp through the halls. But He was threatened, He wasn’t the center of attention. And it wasn’t so much that you were, but you annoyed Him enough by the amount you were taking away from Him.

"It was everything you did, from playing your stereo in your office to the e-mail jokes and even making sure you sent a birthday card to everyone’s birthday." Cathy laughs a bit. "And, of course, you always bought the biggest card the Hallmark stores carried, those huge twenty-four by thirty-six inches ones with Snoopy and Woodstock."

I snicker a little, take a swig of my own beer. "So, it wasn’t my performance, then."

"Absolutely not," she verifies. "No one wanted you to leave, none of the Executive board or any of the managers. People had big plans for you."

I sit and not say anything. Fired over jealousy. Fired over nothing. No more Mister Nice Guy, that’s for sure. I can’t survive in a corporation without being more intimidating. Had the President been more fearful of me, I know I’d still have my job. He’s a Chicken Shit. Christ, He needed the whole Executive Council in the room to can me.

"There’s a good job opening at my place, Cathy says, "if you don’t mind working for your old boss again." She smiles slyly, figuring I’ll accept and start next week.

I think for a moment. I think how I can get on top. "No, actually, Cath, I think I’ll try my luck in the field, if its just the same."

She nods in understanding. "Yeah, I’d probably do the same thing. Besides, I wouldn’t want to work for me either."

I start my new job, in Public Relations. I’ve had a great three weeks at the beach, but now its time for work. My goal is to climb the ladder very quickly with little blood shed. I see how each one of the Veeps conduct themselves, how they work. At home after work I practice their very mannerisms, their vocal tone. People are noticing at work. Managers are impressed, secretaries are willing to grab me a coffee on their way to the cafeteria. I feel successful. I get a call from the president of the firm, he wants to play Golf on Friday with myself and two of the other young Veeps.

"I have big plans for you, Robert" the president says at the Eighth Hole, my lucky number. His name is Charlie, but the two Veeps and I are encouraged to call him "Charlesy", his rules. "Simms, Young and I have been watching how you are working. Very impressive."

I tell them what my report on Monday at the Sales meeting will look like, I am drawing in on an average of twelve new clients into the firm a month. New business. Only the executive board draws new business.

"That’s what we love to hear, Robert. And I have a preview for you," Charlesy says. He slices the ball, sending about twenty yards off the hole. "On Monday, I plan to announce you our new Vice-President in charge of new business. You will also be responsible for controlling some of our newer investments. How’s that sound?"

My clientele continues to grow in the six months at my Veep position. Secretaries continue to get me coffee, people remain impressed. Charlesy is looking to buy a few computer companies as an investment diversification. He calls on me to look into it, I have the most experience in computers and new business.

I look hard, have been for nearly a year. There are a few that we can get into, but most are far fetched with their technology. They are small time, under ten million a year in revenue.

I find my old company is up for sale. It seems that their parent company has grown tired of them and wishes to divest. The revenue is very good, closing in at thirty million. The product line is continuing to be well received in the industry. And He is still in charge.

I investigate this venture, I’ve been watching it since I heard of the sale six weeks ago. I look into everything about this company. Now, I go to Charlesy. He has been wanting for me to find something soon, he grows anxious. I give him the low down.

"Charlesy, we got a winner here. They have been improving with each quarter. This could be our parent company for all those smaller companies I ignored. I think this is the one," I say.

He looks at the folder on the table. He is smiling, slightly. The sun sets rapidly outside his corner office window. He sighs and then speaks. "I had a feeling this one would come up," he says. He knows my history at this company.

"Charlesy, I even tried to find things to make me say no," I say. I have to convince him I am clear, I am focused.

"Oh, I don’t doubt you have, Robert," he says. "I just want to be a fly on the wall for your first day as President of this company." He smiles, extends his hand for congratulations. I thank him and we drink to our success.

My first day at my new job at my old job, I arrive early. I hide out in a visitor’s office until my meeting with the Executive Board at nine. I have yet to see the President, not since he fired me. The HR director welcomes me, she is pleasant again, but more because she wants to keep her job, than to keep me clam. I’ll think about.

It is nine and I walk to the Executive Board Room, the staff is awaiting. The staff has remained the same, they all smile and applaud. The President smiles and extends his hand of welcoming and congratulations. "Welcome back, Robert," He says.

"Thank you, Bill," I say.

We all sit down and I prepare to tell Bill how we’ve decided to take the company in another direction and that we’re going to let him go off and pursue his other options out side the company.

-end-