Part One — "Finale"
He sat at his desk looking like Johnny Unflappable — not a care in the world.
Hands clasped across his chest, atop a neatly pressed shirt of a colour best described as "aggressive lavender." I had the same shirt, and it was rather upsetting to realize I'd need to burn it.
When I’d first met Aaron as I was hired, I’d mistaken it for a laid-back, approachable sort of characteristic. After all the bullshit I’d gone through with this company, it was no longer such an amiable trait. It was more of a loathsome projection of apathy; like he’d quit doing his job long ago, but his body kept showing up to sit in the chair.
My supervisor Ian leaned morosely against a filing cabinet, showing as much interest in the situation as he did the condition of his uniform. There it was, but you hardly respected it.
“What can we do for you, Chance?” Aaron said, without any hint of genuine concern. He just lounged there in his chair; might as well have had his feet up on his desk.
“You can find someone else to give these to.” I said with a smirk, as I tossed my keys and access cards into a pile of paperwork on his desk. “I quit.”
That got their attention.
“We need you though, you can’t quit on us now!?” Ian straightened up, with an oh-fuck look on his face. Ian’s people on this contract were dropping like flies… people quit, licenses expired, holidays, stunt driving fines.
“That sounds an awful lot like your problem, Ian.” I propped myself up on the back of a chair.
“Where’s this coming from, Chance?” Aaron made an all too late attempt to divine the obvious.
I shook my head and laughed. “You have got to be fucking kidding me... Let’s think about this.”
I dropped a manilla folder on the table. Several aerial shots of a generating station slid out, followed by surveillance photos of masked men.
“Our client has been robbed… after the first time you put me out there, alone!” I began pulling various bits of evidence from the folder.
“We’re short people…” Ian interjected.
“Because you hire. Fucking. Muppets." I continued over him. "Who get caught for stunt driving in rented and corporately branded vehicles, or sleep on shift, or who can barely string a sentence together.
“I gave you reports on every security breach possible on that site… I detailed how they were getting in and out; I even got you photos of the local man who was helping them as well as how many they were. I even gave you labeled pictures in case it was too much to read.” I had spread the contents of the folder out along the desk now.
“What was it you said? Right… ‘Chance, you’re jumping to conclusions.’” The two members of management passed glances at one another.
“Did you even try to find me any backup after day one?” I gestured imploringly to Ian. “You rehired a guy you fired last year, then put him on the Weir…
“Did he ever give you my request for proper gear?” I turned to Aaron. “You trained me to use it, seems like a mighty fine time to be issued it.
“The third time, they were waiting for me… but you already knew that. So why did you wait an hour to tell me? I could have been lodged in the fucking turbines by then.”
That’s how I envisioned the meeting in my head anyway. I decided against it knowing full well they wouldn’t care and it would simply be a waste of energy.
I sent them both my two weeks' notice via e-mail near the end of that chaotic month. It was respectful and professional. I never heard a word from either of them regarding it. I was right; they didn’t care.
Just like they didn’t care about the $200K the client lost to the Coppertop Gang.
