Standing with Mrs. Rauschenberg in front of the supermarket shelf, I was looking at a problem. With my background, I could have explained it to her in terms of supply and demand, the pricing aspects, and uncertainty factors, but it might have put her to sleep, or more likely, caused her to use her handbag on me.
She'd already threatened the latter so I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. "Sorry, ma'am, but we're all out."
"Well, is there any more in the back?" she demanded as she stared at the empty slot on the shelf. "I just need one jar, young man. Can you stop just standing there like an idiot and go check?"
"Uhh...I'm sorry, ma'am," I replied, still surprised at her demeanor. Mrs. Rauschenberg was a rather severe-looking ladyโsomewhere between 70 and 80, I guessedโand not known for having a sunny disposition, but in our few interactions, she'd never before been threatening or insulting. "I've already checked; there's not a single jar in the store."
Mrs. Rauschenberg huffed in frustration. "I buy it here every Christmas and you've always got plenty. So what's different this year? It's you, isn't it. I don't remember you from before a few months ago. You didn't bother to order any, did you?"
I shook my head, wishing I could tell her what I really thought of her outburst. Instead, I held my tongue and said, "Ma'am, I'm just a stocker, a grocery clerk. I'm not in charge of ordering so I have no idea why we're out. Like you said, though, I've only been here for a few months and I've never seen us run out of it before."
She frowned at me. "Phhfff. Likely story. And no idea, eh? That just shows what happens when a man your age doesn't get a good education or have any drive and ambition. He ends up as a lowly stock boy at a fucking supermarket instead of doing something important with his life."
She added a few more demeaning curses and stomped off, a real feat for someone her age, leaving me to sigh again in frustration as I failed in my attempt to keep from wishing bad things on her. Her insult hurt, for I had all of what she'd accused me of lacking except for the good job at the moment.
Thinking about that and my upcoming birthday, I wished, once again, that I was somewhere else, far, far away.
***
It had started a little over eight months before when Monte Wiederhoff asked me to stay for a moment after a meeting in his office with the company's senior execs.
Monte had taken over Pelton Wiederhoff almost two years before following the passing of his elderly father, Montgomery, Senior, a great leader who'd actually died at his desk at nearly 85. Unfortunately, his son was cut from a different cloth, and the firm just hadn't been the same since. As the private company's chief financial officer, I'd done my best to help keep it on track despite Monte's apparent rudderlessness at the helm.
"Clark, thanks for staying. Tell me, where do you see our firm headed in the next two years?"
While Monte had the title, I'd been making most of the major decisions for the firm since Montgomery's death, with Monte usually giving a nod, often without a thought. I paused for a few moments, fighting the desire to keep from asking why, like in so many cases before, he hadn't read my report that answered that in considerable detail.
Or maybe, just maybe, he had and wanted a personal explanation of the changes needed.
I took that tact.
"Well, sir, we're in very good condition at the moment, but with the economic turndown combined with some issues here, I see the potential for trouble ahead in the next six to twelve months, with very serious downside over the next 24 months if we aren't more proactive in the near term. Our supply chain has been really affectedโdid you ever get to read the report I gave you a few weeks ago?"
I'd asked him at least four times already and had, to date, always received the same response. The report answered his question and detailed specific recommendations for helping us avoid most of the likely problems. "If so, we can focus on the parts that may be confusing if you'd like rather than going through the whole thing."
"Uh, not yet," he replied, making it five for five. "That's okay, though. We don't need to get into the nitty gritty. From what you've said, it sounds like I've timed it just right. Clark, don't tell anyone, but I've been in negotiations with another firm for the past couple of months. I didn't read your report so I wouldn't have to answer any questions about it if they asked. Delete all copies from the server and backups, and shred any hard copies you might have printed."
He smiled as he added, "We sign the paperwork tomorrow and they'll be taking over on Monday." He was still looking pleased with himself as he looked out the window, even as my world came crashing down around me.
"But, Monteโ"
He held up his hand sharply as he looked around at me with a strange expression. "Yeah, it becomes their problem on Monday and we won't have to worry about it. Oh, and remember, like I said, you can't tell
anyone
about this.
Any of it.
"
And just like that, Monte Wiederhoff, just a few years older than me, was set for life as he ruined mine, with me and the rest of the top management of Pelton Wiederhoff becoming surplus staff while he walked away with millions. The new boss showed up on Monday morning and our senior leadership team was escorted out of the building well before the end of the day.
Despite having an undergrad degree in economics from Princeton, an MBA from Wharton, and almost 26 years of experience using them, suitable jobs were in short supply due to the economic downturn, which worsened about that time. My marriage, which had long been on the rocks, went down the tubes just weeks later, too, and I found myself in the basement efficiency owned by Mrs. Edna Katchekamp, an elderly woman who lived a short distance from my former home. It was tiny but relatively cheap with utilities and wifi included.