National city bank is one of the oldest institutions in the country standing strong since 1847.
I have worked as a Payments SME in their Cleveland office for the last 4 years; a stone’s throw away from where I live. Every morning I walk 15 steps out of my apartment office, cross the road, and enter my office. It has never been this good. I have great neighbors, the kids are thriving and for once I have this feeling called stability, a feeling of belonging — Like I am meant to be here, put down roots, buy a house and grow a family.
However, this is not a typical day. The day is quiet, sunny and people outside are going about their business. National City on the other hand is agog with rumors and whispers. There is talk about takeover, merger or even going under. They have made some really bad bets on mortgages in the last year and the due has come home. Who will be retained and who will be let go?
Being a contractor, I know I am the most vulnerable to these cuts and I am mentally prepared or at least I think I am. It’s like you are in a room surrounded by bombs dropping all around the house, gunfire, and yet all is quiet in that room. It is your space and you feel a bit safe as the frequency of those booms goes down and the rattle of the gunfire is no longer frequent and just when you think it’s going to be fine, there’s a loud knock on the door and you know what it means.
I sit there thinking of these scenarios when I see Dean’s number flash on the phone.
I know it’s time and he has asked me to come to see him. He sounds almost apologetic but he has to do what he has to. I want to wrap this up over the phone but then there’s a little dance to these things that one has to go through.
Later in the evening as I walk home, I have cleared my desk. I see people going out with big cardboard boxes filled with belongings from years of existence. Potted plants, paperwork, and even a coffee grinder. I walk home clutching a 3” Buddha statue that I was given by someone who said it would bring me good luck and I notice Todd standing by his car in the parking lot.
“It’s going to be ok my friend,” he says almost as if consoling himself instead of me.
“Yeah. I hope so too.”, I nod not sure what else to say. I will miss him terribly. He is one of the few coworkers I dare call a friend.
“I’ll miss you Z man. It’s been a good run”. Yeah, he is one of those who call me the Z man.
I have a moment of weakness and I extend my hand for a handshake. Instead, he pulls me in for a bear hug. He is 6 ” and fairly brusque when it comes to tolerating shabby work but he somehow has ended up with a soft corner for me or maybe he is just vulnerable in his moment of weakness. Maybe because I never confronted him or maybe he never saw me as a threat to his career. I would never know. I don’t want to know.
“I want you to have this”.
I pull out the status from my pocket and hold my hands together as it’s meant to be offered. Palms joined, extended out to be picked up. As the Buddha said, the taker is doing the giver a favor of generating good karma by his act of taking it from you and for that we are grateful. He knows this as we have shared this story over late-night work schedules in office.
“Thanks, man. I will always keep this with me. If I find something, you’ll be the first one that I will call ok?” he says as he turns away.
And so, it’s done.
I walk out of that gate just as I had walked in years ago.
Empty-handed, hands in pocket. I feel good about it, about everything.
I will find a new job soon. Hopefully, it will be close by in Cleveland and we won’t have to move out. I’ll start applying from tomorrow. I make a mental list of people to call, the recruiters, old contacts, friends, and even cold call strangers.
When work is involved there is no shame. It will be alright after all.
— — — -
As I cross the street to enter Islander apartments, I see two small earthworms wriggle their way on the road. They could be crushed by the next set of feet or the next tread of tires.
I look around to find a leaf off a tree, slowly pick the two worms off the pavement, and put them on the grass where they wriggle off quickly shocked at the intrusion.
It’s an old habit. They are probably having a bad day, just like I am. There’s no reason why one of us shouldn’t catch a break.
Walking home, I see Ana sitting on the balcony on the second floor watching the girls ride their bikes below with their friends.
It’s all sunny and quiet and the most perfect day to sit outside.
We have no idea of the storm that’s coming.
Blissfully unaware, oblivious to the destruction that’s just around the next corner.
