2
A storm is brewing.
“You can avoid reality, but you
cannot avoid the consequences
of avoiding reality.”
~ Ayn Rand
It was seven o’clock before Phil decided to call it a day. He was hungry and tired, and considered going straight home, but there was nothing to eat; he hadn’t been to the grocery store in over a month. He knew he would find his friends a few blocks away at Montana’s Bar and Grille…maybe a few beers would cheer him up.
“Phil! Hey Phil!” yelled Steve from across the room when Phil walked in. “Over here!” Phil waved and worked his way across the bar to join his coworkers. “Any updates on Kent?” inquired Steve as Phil pulled up a chair.
“Every day a pain in the ass!” said Phil as he sat down, “And Kent is just one of the reasons!” Everyone laughed.
“Wolfhounds for everyone!” Steve yelled across the room at the bartender, gesturing to the men at the table. Wolfhound was the beverage of choice with Phil’s drinking buddies. It was a “man’s beer”. Phil hated Wolfhound.
“Hey, Phil,” interjected a man to his left, “What do you think about the overseas economic numbers that came out this week?” Robert was the self-appointed intellectual of the group. He was often trying to impress everyone with his knowledge. They all knew his game: he would spend his evenings researching the Internet, gathering obscure facts, and then he would casually bring them up the next day. His friends were used to it. They assumed he was compensating for something, since he also drove a Porsche.
“I got this one,” said Steve, “Robert, I see a double-bottom-flip-around coming from the Asian market. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking about moving my $167.00 into gold, at least until the options market settles down.”
Everyone laughed at Steve, but Robert tried to continue the conversation. “Wait a minute, guys, I’m serious! All the numbers look bad. Interest rates are dropping all around the world.”
“Good,” said Doug, “Maybe I can refinance my place and borrow some more money!”
Robert shrugged and changed the subject. “OK, Phil, what’s going on at WAD? I heard the numbers were down.” Phil rolled his eyes. Robert ignored him and continued. “I mean you are the accountant. Do you see our numbers dropping?”
“Give it a break!” said Phil. “The numbers are down because they always drop this time of year! I wouldn’t worry about it! Now let’s drink!” But secretly Phil wondered, and he grew quiet as he considered what Kent had put him through that day. He wasn’t worried about his job, he was vested with the company, but he knew everyone wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t want to concern his friends, but the numbers were not adding up.
The evening wore on, and one by one, Phil’s coworkers headed home. Phil had switched to water, and found himself drifting back into despair as he sobered up. Finally, he found himself alone, and could think of no reason to put off going home. Sighing, he picked up his keys and headed out the door.
Phil’s shoulders sagged as he walked into the house. Kicking the kitchen door shut behind him, he glanced around for a good place to put his keys, shrugged, and tossed them absentmindedly onto the kitchen table. He sighed as he settled into his easy chair with a bag of chips, reaching for the remote. Flipping through the channels aimlessly, he lost himself in the mindless chatter of the television, and finally fell asleep, the bag of chips resting on his chest.
3
Adrift in the River of Life
Recruiting officer: “Have you
given any thought to your
future, Son?”
Forrest Gump: “Thought?”
“Damn it!” screamed Phil as he ran out of the house with his briefcase. He had spent thirty minutes searching for his keys, and had already returned twice for his lunch and then his wallet. “This is really getting old!” Phil grumbled, jumping into the car. He rushed out of the driveway, creating a whirlwind of leaves and dust as he blew by Mrs. Gumby and her tiny dog. The dog reminded him of a sewer rat, and he snickered as he pictured the old lady walking down the sidewalk with a large rat on the end of her leash.
Phil walked in to find a note on his desk. Slamming his briefcase down, he picked up the note: “My office – Kent”. Phil snorted, “How eloquent.” He took off his jacket and picked up a few files before heading down the hall. “Every day a pain in the ass!” he mumbled under his breath.
Kent’s secretary glanced up when Phil walked in and ushered him immediately to the doorway without the usual wait. He hesitated, glancing at the secretary. Averting her eyes, she quickly returned to her desk without saying a word. Phil watched her walk across the room and sit down before turning back to the doorway. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked into the room.
Fifteen minutes later, Phil walked out of the office in a daze. He had been laid off. WAD was cutting back, Kent had explained, and was moving all the accounting to an outside group. All the work Kent had asked Phil to do was a test. The outside firm had provided a mountain of analysis for a fraction of the cost. Kent had compared Phil’s work to their work. It had become clear that Phil could not compete, and they just didn’t need him anymore. Phil returned to his desk stunned, completely oblivious to the stares as he packed the few personal items from his desk. Finishing the task, he looked around and noticed one last item, a plaque commemorating fifteen years of service. He took the plaque off the wall and examined it, shaking his head. Tossing it into the trash, he headed out to the car.
Not sure what to do next, Phil drove around town. He passed through neighborhoods and parks, and even downtown, his mind blank. A few hours later, he found himself in the parking lot at Montana’s Grille. He didn’t remember deciding to go to Montana’s, but now that he was here, he decided to go in. Phil was the first customer of the day, and Rock, the owner of the bar, was surprised to see him at this early hour. Phil walked by Rock without an acknowledgement and sat down at the nearest booth. Rock followed him. “Damn, Phil, you look like someone ran over your dog!”
“Rock, I’m out of a job.” Phil recounted the morning’s events.
Rock listened attentively, waiting for Phil to wind down before he spoke. “Listen, Phil, I might be able to help you out. I have a good friend who owns a bookkeeping company downtown. I think he’s hiring. Tell him I sent you.” Rock jotted the number down on a napkin and slid it across the table. Phil took the napkin and absently placed it in his pocket, nodding to Rock. The lunch crowd started to trickle in, and Rock brought Phil a beer, leaving him to his thoughts. A few beers later, Phil decided to
