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INDIAN IN COWBOY COUNTRY

TWO LINES

“I don’t know why I spend so much time looking for coupons and saving money, and I don’t know why I send you to the grocery store. All you do is buy useless stuff and waste money.” She put the accursed plastic container in the refrigerator with a thud of displeasure, Seeta briefly looked puzzled. She wondered, for an instant, why her mother was so upset but went back to play with her toys on the kitchen floor.

Normally, Satish would have reacted to his wife’s well-intended criticism and leaped into a rebuttal, arguing that, occasionally, he was allowed to make some impulsive purchase. Instead, he said nothing. He sat still as a slight, almost invisible smile of awareness crept across his face.

He thought about Harry’s loss, Joe’s layoff and Quynh’s life when a phrase from his native Tamil, “Iru Kodugal,” crossed his mind. It literally meant “two lines,” but was commonly used to convey two unequal lines, one long and one short. The phrase was the idiomatic equivalent of, “I cried because I had no shoes, until I saw a man who had no feet!”

Satish picked up Seeta from the floor and hugged her warmly. With his daughter in his arms, he went over to his displeased wife, embraced her affectionately and whispered in her ear, “I love you!”

Monica wondered why he was acting so strange and pushed him away gently after she tenderly whispered back, “So do I, but next time don’t waste money!” As he put Seeta down on the kitchen floor and walked away to the bathroom for refreshing post-haircut shower, his sight smile persisted.

THE HUNT

When a somber Tim O’Leary the vice president of human resources of Clark Oilfield Technologies, walked into his office unannounced late Friday afternoon and told him that the firm’s president, Billy Stayton, wanted to see him immediately, Satish was not surprised. He had been anticipating this moment, when he would be politely told that his “position had been eliminated,” American corporate-speak for being fired.

Tim was a good friend and colleague who had supported him through many tumultuous twists and turns in his ten-year career at Clark, but now had to pay the role of a reluctant executioner. Industry conditions and the firm’s continues hemorrhaging of cash needed a tourniquet but often reducing headcount by amputating employees was the fastest way to stop the bleeding.

Satish was familiar with the process of being “let go.” He had played Tim’s role before. For the past year, on several occasions, he had to undertake the loathsome task of informing his employee that his or her services were no longer required, and giving the unfortunate person a formal letter that outlined the details and the background of the dismissal. He also had the repugnant task of informing the ex-employee that he or she had to leave the premise immediately, and that personal belongings could be collected at a later appointed time, unseen by the still-employed, lest it affect employee morale.

Both Tim and Satish knew that this was the last time he would walk these hallways and the campus as an employee. It was a long silent walk to Billy’s executive suite on mahogany row in a different building.

As they came out into the open and walked along the pathway around a man-made lake, Tim pulled out a cigarette and lit it nervously, his hands trembling as he tried to bring his lighter’s flame to its tip. He inhaled deeply and hurriedly several times, attempting to ingest sufficient nicotine before they reached Billy’s office building.

The two walked down the final hallway with portraits of founders of the firm. Liz, Billy’s new executive assistant, saw them. She hastily got up and went into Billy’s office to announce their arrival. By the time they reached the end of the hallway, she was back to escort them into the conference room adjoining the office, saying that Billy would join them in a moment.

Tim and Satish sat across from each other at the conference table, leaving the seat at the head of the  table for Billy. They said nothing until Tim got into a coughing fit and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

“You’ve got to stop smoking, Tim. It will kill you,” Satish said.

“This job and my ulcers will kill me before any cigarette,” replied Tim. “This is hell.”

“That’s not the way it looks from where I am sitting, Tim. You still have your job,” he said, with a touch of acidity that was not lost on Tim.

Tim paused, took another gulp of water, and said, “Yes, I have my job, but this part is very stressful. You can’t imagine doing this all day long with no end in sight.”

Satish tried to empathize with Tim but could not; not while he was waiting for Billy to walk in and graciously tell him that his services were no longer needed. His mind was engrossed in devising a plan to look for a job immediately, so that Monica and two-year-old Seeta continue to live the good life.

Still, he advised his friend, “I wish you’d stop smoking Tim. It does not help you with yours stress. I am the one being axed. You are the one who still has a job, and you are more nervous than I am.

Tim took another deep puff and said, “That’s because of all that yoga stuff that you Indians practice to remain calm in all situations. Besides, I don’t know when my neck will be on the block and I need this job to pay my bills. I cannot afford to loose it.”

“No one can afford to lose their job, Tim. Just take it easy. All will be well. And, just in case you do need another job, call me. I’ll have a head start on you,” he said with a sincere smile that seemed sardonic to his friend.

Just then, Billy walked into the conference room carrying a manila folder that Satish guessed contained his walking papers. Unpredictably, Billy sat next to Tim and both now faced him, as if they were on opposing sides. These subtleties were Tim’s style.

After a few pleasantries, Billy got swiftly down to business. He recounted how the industry’s severe downturn had affected Clark’s bottom line. His board of directors had bought in some consultants who recommended that his division be mothballed, if not shut down, because it was a long-term play and was burning cash that they could ill afford.

“I am sorry Satish, but your product line did not make the cut. As a consequence, your position has been eliminated.”

Tim sat silent while Billy spoke but, as if on cue, on the Phrase "your position has been eliminated", he  jumped in and fulled out some papers from the folder that Billy had bought in. He read the terms of their disengagement aloud, highlighting various confidentiality- and non-compete agreements that Satish had signed.

After Tim was done, Billy said, “Satish, this was a very difficult decision for us. I mean it. We tried to find you a position somewhere else in the firm, or at least an advisory role on my staff, but we have many more good people than we have slots. We are now cutting into the bone. There is no fat; there is no flesh, only bone.”

 “I am sorry to hear that, Billy,” he replied. “Clark has been an excellent company to work with and I have good memories here. I enjoyed working with the people here. They are the best, and I will miss them. Thank you, Billy and Tim, for the opportunity and the support. Trust me; my gratitude comes from the bottom of my heart.”

With that, he rose from his seat, shook hands with Billy and Tim, and left the conference room. He passed Liz, who had a sympathetic face when she said, “We’ll miss you, Satish. God bless you, your wife, and your darling little baby.”

He smiled momentarily as he thanked her for her best wishes. He walked down mahogany row, and as he was about to step out of the building. Tim came panting up to him and said, “Wait, I’ve got to talk with you.”

“I am listening,” he replied as he walked to his car in the parking lot. “You don’t have to walk me to my car. I know the drill.”

“Listen you, you, Indian,” Tim stammered, as he was prone to do when he was upset with him. “What the hell was that all about? Jesus, nobody gives up on a ten-year career like that, so courteously. You just left without asking for anything.

"What should I have asked for?"

"A severance package, for instance?"

"A severance package? I thought that was only for senior executives. I am just a manager, Tim. Not even a director,”

“Well, my friend, we had one ready for you, in case you asked for one. Now you don’t.”

“Sounds good, Tim. Anything else? I have to get home and let Monica Know about this. She has been worried for months, and now that it has happened, we can move on. Thank you for everything. Tim. You are a good friend.”

“Will you please stop hurrying to your car? I have one last favor for you, Satish. Just walk with me to the cafeteria. I want to talk with you.”

The post-lunch cafeteria was empty. Without people, it looked like a morgue for molded plastic and steel furniture- the sets of chairs and tables perfectly aligned with each other, creating an antiseptic but geometric design that Tim shattered by yanking out a chair and clumsily setting it at an angle to the table. He pulled out a cigarette as Satish sat down and crossed his arms. He positioned his chair away from the table.

“I don’t give a whit who sees me,” Tim muttered as he lit his cigarette in this non-smoking area.