This Is The Hardest Job A Manager’s Got To Do, But The Organization’s Decided To Make A Change
I leave on a business trip tomorrow, and before I do, I have to find a way to fire one of my oldest and closest associates. Let’s call him “Eddie”. “Eddie Bauer”. This individual has been my faithful companion for nearly 5 years and, like all of the best lieutenants in business, has discreetly hidden, when necessary, any dirty laundry that my business ventures may have generated.
Lately, though, he’s started to let himself go physically, showing up for duty with an increasingly slovenly visage. I began to worry a bit about his ability to continue to perform his tactful office seamlessly. Then, on my last trip, the wheels (one, anyway) literally came off and, even in the dulcet confines of seat 3A, I could not relax for fear that he would leak something valuable down in steerage.
When we met after the flight, I was heartened to learn that he had managed to hold it together, and I walked him gently to our homebound shuttle.
He can probably sense my imminent departure tomorrow, noticing the unaccustomed absence in the closet of his less capacious colleagues. While it’s true that it will require two of them to do the job he used to do, we’ll all just have to pull together and try to cover.
I wanted to throw a more opulent going-away party. I tried to gen up one of those US maps that other bloggers have been posting showing states they’ve visited, but the link doesn’t work, at least tonight. It woulda done him proud, all those colored-in states.
He’ll get to stay around a few weeks, taking up space and enduring the euphoric whispers of his peers as they return to the closet festooned with fresh destination tags. He’ll get outplacement counselling, and we’ll eventually place him with another firm, Salvation Army or, better yet, Community Services for the Blind. He’s still got something to offer to the right firm, it’s too soon for the landfill. But he’s probably seen the last of his favorite carousels, #2 at Milwaukee’s General Mitchell, or the crazy shell game they play at Detroit’s new McNamara Terminal. He’ll probably never again sport the “Priority: World Business Class” sticker on his handle.
I’ll let him keep his “Heavy! Get help to lift” tag - I wouldn’t want to be party to that final emasculation. In better days, he’d proudly weigh in at just under the 50lb limit, leaving checkin agents gnashing their teeth at the near-miss of additional revenue, and not smiling at my “Careful! That’s my mother in there!” admonishment as they struggled to flop him onto the conveyor.
Vaya Con Dios, buddy. It’s been a great run!
