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April 7, 1999 |
Her heart sank with every message on the stack. Each brought her a completely new experience of shame. Who knew it could come in so many, many varieties? Some were smirking and nerdy: Hoo, boy! That's a first -- professional suicide by SMTP. Couldn't you have just gotten drunk and fallen over at the holiday party instead? It was nice knowing you. What did you say your name was? >> This is a criticle time in the > Barb, Some were congratulatory: From: rscott@teramemory.comSome were pedantic: From: tchun@teramemory.comAnd some were almost admiring: From: nkishore@teramemory.comBut they all shared one theme -- Liz was finished at TeraMemory. All except one, from a Candi Sawyer, which was ominously cryptic: From: csawyer@teramemory.com- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - On the 21st floor, Barry Dominic was bursting a hose. He lurched into the antechamber of the executive suite to download his fury on the administrative assistant. "What do you mean you sent out the memo without polishing it up? What in God's name am I paying you for? I ... am ... not a details guy. I'm the goddamn CEO, that's who I am. I don't have time to pick nits. I'm trying to run a billion fucking dollar company. And you have to go and make me look like a goddamn idiot numbskull in front of the whole crew." He caught his breath while his assistant stared gravely at her manicure. A blood vessel stood up festively on his forehead. "What in God's name did I hire you for?" he snarled as he stalked back into his office. "And you get this Toulouse individual up here first thing in the morning, OK?" he shot back over his shoulder. Barry slumped in his chair, stuck out his jaw and seethed. He'd always been a little sensitive about the gaps in his non-technical education. But he'd be damned if he was going to let some new hire poke fun at him over it. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Meanwhile, Liz was already packing up her things. She hadn't been at Tera long enough to personalize her cubicle very much -- just an art nouveau calendar and a picture of her cat, Angus -- but her instincts told her to cover her tracks and leave as little trace of her existence as possible. Her phone rang. It was Mr. Dominic's administrative assistant, every sentence a question. "Ms. Toulouse? Mr. Dominic would like to see you? Tomorrow morning in his office on 21? At 8:30?" Liz blanched, but somehow her recently acquired corporate compliance reflex caused her to say something that she, in no possible, conceivable way, meant. "Yes. I'll be there." She put down the phone and swallowed hard. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - An hour later, Barry’s tantrum continued unabated. He dialed his receptionist on the speakerphone, though she sat in the next room. "Did you schedule that insubordinate moron for the morning?" "Yes, Mr. Dominic." "Good. Now, you’re fired. You can go straight to HR," he snapped, and squashed the speakerphone's orange button beneath his thumb.
Coming Friday
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Chapter 1 Adrift among the cubicles - - - - - - - - - - - -
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