Staff meeting. Topiary Techniques Auditorium. Horticultural Technicians, green-and-yellow t-shirts. Back row, Friday evening, work day done, go home. Now. Run.
Victor commandeered the small stage. Stack of papers width of several phone books dramatically dropped loud. Thud. Heads up. Tirade. Paper replacement forms processed last financial quarter, over $250,000.
“That’s $250,000 lifted from Topiary Techniques,” said Victor.
Sloppiness of “certain technicians” — not watering or watering too much, not testing a plant’s relation to its environment; not doing the right thing; goofing off. Technicians getting soft. Clients walk all over them, order replacements when plants could be saved.
“Sure, the clients will act all nicey-nicey while you’re there and they’re trying to bend you around their little thumbs. Then they’ll turn around and stab you in the back. Complain about your “attitude,” your “service.” They’re not your friends. Don’t for a minute believe the clients are your friends. You only have one friend here: Topiary Techniques. The Company is your friend. Your only friend. The clients don’t pay your salary and they won’t protect you. Money lost to Topiary Techniques is money lost to you. We’re all in this together, so you better know who you’re sticking to and who’s sticking it to you.
“You’re all lucky you even have jobs. We’re in a recession. There’s a war on. Get smart. Know who butters your bread,” he admonished.
“Take care of the plants. Do your job. It’s not a hard job. It’s an easy job. Be on the ball and look sharp and the job’s a piece of cake. Don’t lose plants. Don’t let them die, if you can help it, and above all don’t let clients con you into replacing plants that can be saved. Don’t let life slip through your fingers, it’s expensive.”
Victor paced the stage, his words like lava, his words inside us.
Senior staff would visit sites at random, inspecting work.
“We’ll be looking to see that jobs are done right. And if a job is not done right, the technician responsible will hear from us. We’ll have a little talk about what it means to work for Topiary Techniques.
“We all like to have fun and unwind, but not on the job. When you’re on the job, wearing that t-shirt, you’re representing The Company and you better be professional. Professional means doing the job the way you were trained. We spend a lot of time training you guys, and time is money. We hired you because we had faith in you, every one of you, that you’d be able to handle this job and conduct yourselves professionally. That’s why we only hire college graduates. We want our technicians to be top-of-the-line. People who’ll respect the plants and do the job right. Don’t let us down. These are living things you’re responsible for and they have to be cared for with intelligence and respect, but on the other hand, this isn’t brain surgery.
“If you have a question about a particular plant or you suspect disease or infestation by alien, non-proprietary green-ware, or have any question at all, call the office. We’ll talk you through it. And if you have any pain-in-the-ass clients who are bugging you for replacements or asking you to do what you shouldn’t be doing, call the office, call me, don’t even try to handle it yourself, just tell them ‘I’ll have to check with the office,’ and let me get on the phone. I’ll do the talking. That’s my job. I know how to do my job, know how to do yours.”
Victor paced, paced, settled into softer tones.
“Just keep all this in mind. I’m not happy to be scaring you like this. I don’t get off on scaring you guys. But if Topiary Techniques keeps losing money on replacements like this, not everyone’s job will be secure. Know who your friends are. We’re your friends, clients are not your friends. Talk to us about problems, not them. They don’t give a rat’s ass about you. Just think about this, what I said here, and go home, relax, enjoy your week-end, and come back Monday ready to work hard.”
Real-life scenario: job the source of income that paid rent. But I was, really was ultimately free. “Senior staff” could not suspend blood circulating or arrest breathing. Senior staff could scrutinize my pay-attention all they wanted to from now to zero. I was Plantman whether I wore the Topiary Techniques t-shirt or a nun’s habit. My blood was green and thicker than the water in The Company’s plastic pails.
I got drunk. Bought a large beer in every deli on the way to the subway drank each through a straw, each veiled from The Law in a wet brown bag.
Spaced out, missed my stop. Then violence on the subway. Two kids arguing over some small thing. Two young girls. Little blossom lives stem-clipped before my eyes. Blood, blood, screams. Grief. Loss. Panic. Next stop a great rush of kids escaping before Emergency Stop declared and the car invaded by Police. The stricken girls abandoned. One already dead, the other not quite yet.
Long trip home. Forever seemed. Almost dark, too late to run.
The Apartment was empty I was alone. Passed out in my gear.
Woke past noon next day, t-shirt soaked with sweat and water emptied from my bucket.
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