Coffee With The Ponytail Man
Based on a title inspired by Dr. Theodore Venema
Huddled by the water cooler, one co-worker whispered to the other, “I just saw the pony tail man”. “Oh yeah?,” the other returned, “Who’d you suppose he’s here for?” “No one in my department”, the first one said, “we were just commended for our work.” “Hey maybe it’s me”, the second one laughed, “maybe it’ll get me outta alimony.” They bantered about the possibilities, and agreed to keep each other informed as they separated for the day’s work.
At the same time, company president Richard Garson and the pony tail man entered the office of Paul Angeloni, Executive Vice President of Sales and Marketing. Angeloni had been brought in a year earlier to boost the sales of Gar-Phonics’ hearing aids. He came with an exceptional record for reviving business. He was, you might say, a sales rejuvenation expert. But sales had not improved as hoped, and word around Gar-Phonics was that something would be done. Garson, not often seen around the office, had been visiting recently.
The pony tail man was a discharge specialist, brought in to console those who were let go, to ensure that they left their work premises safely, without incident. Phil Roman was his name. He was slight and pale, yet sturdy, with a runaway beard and long straight hair tied back. A psychedelic man with a serene demeanor. He came up with the idea for this job about a year ago, when a friend told him about a horrible experience his firm had letting go of a disgruntled employee. The man locked himself in his office and began destroying the company’s computer files. By the time they got him out, the damage was done: the company’s files were in ruins. Roman, who’d worked with troubled youth, was adept at dealing with people in high stress situations, and he wanted a change of career. In researching the marketability of a discharge specialist, he discovered there was a great necessity for a person like this. He figured that he could rent himself out, on a contract basis, to companies that demonstrated a need.
In recent months, word-of-mouth advertising had increased demand for his services so much that Roman made his job full-time. He had been invaluable in helping many companies deflect the agitation of discharged employees.
Garson called the pony tail man for precisely this reason. Having used his service before, Garson realized how much anguish was alleviated by having him there. He knew the pony tail man was the right man for the job. Today, his role was to deflect Angeloni’s impending agitation.
Angeloni was not a people person. He could be counted on to be gruff and tactless. This was his downfall with most of his underlings, the sales and marketing staff. He’d lost their support after four months on the job. Angeloni had not previously worked in the health care field, and clearly lacked the soft touch that the hearing aid business required. He was used to selling soft drinks, razors, tires. He was in the wrong business, and he lacked the perceptiveness to realize it.
The pony tail man stood beside a poised Mr. Garson, who looked the assured Angeloni in the eye and asked him to sit down. Garson was irritated by Angeloni’s unfailing confidence. He couldn’t believe that he ever hired a man so unenlightened. The pony tail man sensed Garson’s feelings. He couldn’t believe that Angeloni didn’t seem to know what was coming.
Angeloni made small talk and took his time to sit down. He was treating this as a social visit. Garson gave the pony tail man a disbelieving look and the pony tail man returned a knowing nod. They stood while Angeloni leaned forward in his swivel chair. “I may as well get to the point”, Garson began. “Won’t you sit down?”, Angeloni said. “Thank you, no”, Garson said curtly. Angeloni looked at the pony tail man like he was wondering when he was going to be introduced. Garson saw this and said, “This is Phil Roman. He would like to take you out for coffee.” Angeloni began to look perplexed. “You know that business hasn’t been good”, Garson said. “Sure, that happens in summertime”, Angeloni stated. “Yes”, Garson said, “but that’s not the issue here.” There was silence enough to hear the clamour outside. “We’re letting you go”, Garson said straightly.
Angeloni remained composed for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. Garson and the pony tail man stood fixed in their spots, cautiously awaiting Angeloni’s response. Angeloni remained unflustered. He gave the pony tail man a quick look. Then he sat back in his chair, swiveled around a bit with his fingers interwoven, his forefingers and thumbs together, creating a church steeple effect, the forefingers meeting at his bottom lip, where they pushed upward, creating the illusion of deeply contemplative thought. Even his strangely squinted eyes indicated that he was deep in thought. But Angeloni was incapable of such thought. He was merely trying to decide how to best preserve for himself the maximum amount of dignity, for Paul Angeloni, with all his faults, somehow always managed to remain dignified. He was dignified the time sales associate Ian Lockyer came to him asking for two days off. Lockyer’s wife had just given birth to their second child, and he wanted to help her set up shop in their new home. They had recently moved from Edmonton, and hadn’t had time to settle in before Lockyer started work. Angeloni had looked at Lockyer with patronizing eyes. “Your wife needs help with the baby?” Angeloni said. Before Lockyer had time to respond, Angeloni said, “That’s her job. We need you here.”
Garson became irked by Angeloni’s stalling, so he said, “We’ll need you out of here in one hour. We’ll contact you in a week to settle up final matters.” He turned around and walked out the door.
It was a while before Angeloni made a move. Finally, he got up slowly, pushed his chair aside, stretched his arms above his head, took a deep breath, bent down to touch his toes, came back up and did some more odd stretches with his arms, and finally whipped his arms around in a frenzied windmill fashion, as if trying to propel himself into motion. His breathing became short and pointed, and he repeatedly made faint, distressing whistling sounds. All the while, he determinedly avoided looking at the pony tail man. The pony tail man let Angeloni alone. He was ready to step in if Angeloni’s actions should become violent or dangerous. Until then, he seemed content to lean against the wall and wait.
Angeloni pushed hard against his desk, exerting himself to stretch his calves. Then he pulled his legs up, one then another, toward his back to stretch his hamstring muscles. Now he began shuffling around the items on his desk. He picked up the monogrammed brass name plate he had custom made. He studied it, for error it seemed. The pony tail man watched him subtly, as if he was wondering what Angeloni might do with the item. Angeloni put it down easily and picked up the elaborately-crafted cherrywood miniature desk-size grandfather clock. He studied its face, and soon moved his eyes downward, where he became entranced by the fleet swinging of the slim copper pendulum. In a mere minute, his face lost its determined guise, his shoulders drooped, and he closed his eyes with avowed resignation. For the first time in his life, Paul Angeloni was regretful. Like the losing pitcher of the seventh game of the World Series, he was benumbed by the realization that he had failed, and the reason why he failed. He didn’t do well enough. Strangely, he wasn’t bothered that everyone would know that he had failed. What bothered him was that he’d never before failed to produce; he’d always delivered the goods. In his own mind, he was the best damn bottom line man in the business. Now, he was a failure. Until this very moment, he had proved himself thoroughly incapable of ceding to this fact.
Angeloni showed no outward emotion as he lifted his head and looked at the pony tail man. “So where are we going for coffee?” he said stoically, surprising the pony tail man with his sudden apparent acceptance of his fate. “About a mile away”, Phil Roman said. “And what do we do there?” Angeloni asked. “We talk”, Roman said. “Can we go now?” Angeloni asked. Roman glanced at the items on the desk and said, “Sure”. “Good. I’m thirsty”, Angeloni said.
Huddled by the water cooler, one co-worker whispered to the other, “I just saw the pony tail man”. “Oh yeah?,” the other returned, “Who’d you suppose he’s here for?” “No one in my department”, the first one said, “we were just commended for our work.” “Hey maybe it’s me”, the second one laughed, “maybe it’ll get me outta alimony.” They bantered about the possibilities, and agreed to keep each other informed as they separated for the day’s work.
At the same time, company president Richard Garson and the pony tail man entered the office of Paul Angeloni, Executive Vice President of Sales and Marketing. Angeloni had been brought in a year earlier to boost the sales of Gar-Phonics’ hearing aids. He came with an exceptional record for reviving business. He was, you might say, a sales rejuvenation expert. But sales had not improved as hoped, and word around Gar-Phonics was that something would be done. Garson, not often seen around the office, had been visiting recently.
The pony tail man was a discharge specialist, brought in to console those who were let go, to ensure that they left their work premises safely, without incident. Phil Roman was his name. He was slight and pale, yet sturdy, with a runaway beard and long straight hair tied back. A psychedelic man with a serene demeanor. He came up with the idea for this job about a year ago, when a friend told him about a horrible experience his firm had letting go of a disgruntled employee. The man locked himself in his office and began destroying the company’s computer files. By the time they got him out, the damage was done: the company’s files were in ruins. Roman, who’d worked with troubled youth, was adept at dealing with people in high stress situations, and he wanted a change of career. In researching the marketability of a discharge specialist, he discovered there was a great necessity for a person like this. He figured that he could rent himself out, on a contract basis, to companies that demonstrated a need.
In recent months, word-of-mouth advertising had increased demand for his services so much that Roman made his job full-time. He had been invaluable in helping many companies deflect the agitation of discharged employees.
Garson called the pony tail man for precisely this reason. Having used his service before, Garson realized how much anguish was alleviated by having him there. He knew the pony tail man was the right man for the job. Today, his role was to deflect Angeloni’s impending agitation.
Angeloni was not a people person. He could be counted on to be gruff and tactless. This was his downfall with most of his underlings, the sales and marketing staff. He’d lost their support after four months on the job. Angeloni had not previously worked in the health care field, and clearly lacked the soft touch that the hearing aid business required. He was used to selling soft drinks, razors, tires. He was in the wrong business, and he lacked the perceptiveness to realize it.
The pony tail man stood beside a poised Mr. Garson, who looked the assured Angeloni in the eye and asked him to sit down. Garson was irritated by Angeloni’s unfailing confidence. He couldn’t believe that he ever hired a man so unenlightened. The pony tail man sensed Garson’s feelings. He couldn’t believe that Angeloni didn’t seem to know what was coming.
Angeloni made small talk and took his time to sit down. He was treating this as a social visit. Garson gave the pony tail man a disbelieving look and the pony tail man returned a knowing nod. They stood while Angeloni leaned forward in his swivel chair. “I may as well get to the point”, Garson began. “Won’t you sit down?”, Angeloni said. “Thank you, no”, Garson said curtly. Angeloni looked at the pony tail man like he was wondering when he was going to be introduced. Garson saw this and said, “This is Phil Roman. He would like to take you out for coffee.” Angeloni began to look perplexed. “You know that business hasn’t been good”, Garson said. “Sure, that happens in summertime”, Angeloni stated. “Yes”, Garson said, “but that’s not the issue here.” There was silence enough to hear the clamour outside. “We’re letting you go”, Garson said straightly.
Angeloni remained composed for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. Garson and the pony tail man stood fixed in their spots, cautiously awaiting Angeloni’s response. Angeloni remained unflustered. He gave the pony tail man a quick look. Then he sat back in his chair, swiveled around a bit with his fingers interwoven, his forefingers and thumbs together, creating a church steeple effect, the forefingers meeting at his bottom lip, where they pushed upward, creating the illusion of deeply contemplative thought. Even his strangely squinted eyes indicated that he was deep in thought. But Angeloni was incapable of such thought. He was merely trying to decide how to best preserve for himself the maximum amount of dignity, for Paul Angeloni, with all his faults, somehow always managed to remain dignified. He was dignified the time sales associate Ian Lockyer came to him asking for two days off. Lockyer’s wife had just given birth to their second child, and he wanted to help her set up shop in their new home. They had recently moved from Edmonton, and hadn’t had time to settle in before Lockyer started work. Angeloni had looked at Lockyer with patronizing eyes. “Your wife needs help with the baby?” Angeloni said. Before Lockyer had time to respond, Angeloni said, “That’s her job. We need you here.”
Garson became irked by Angeloni’s stalling, so he said, “We’ll need you out of here in one hour. We’ll contact you in a week to settle up final matters.” He turned around and walked out the door.
It was a while before Angeloni made a move. Finally, he got up slowly, pushed his chair aside, stretched his arms above his head, took a deep breath, bent down to touch his toes, came back up and did some more odd stretches with his arms, and finally whipped his arms around in a frenzied windmill fashion, as if trying to propel himself into motion. His breathing became short and pointed, and he repeatedly made faint, distressing whistling sounds. All the while, he determinedly avoided looking at the pony tail man. The pony tail man let Angeloni alone. He was ready to step in if Angeloni’s actions should become violent or dangerous. Until then, he seemed content to lean against the wall and wait.
Angeloni pushed hard against his desk, exerting himself to stretch his calves. Then he pulled his legs up, one then another, toward his back to stretch his hamstring muscles. Now he began shuffling around the items on his desk. He picked up the monogrammed brass name plate he had custom made. He studied it, for error it seemed. The pony tail man watched him subtly, as if he was wondering what Angeloni might do with the item. Angeloni put it down easily and picked up the elaborately-crafted cherrywood miniature desk-size grandfather clock. He studied its face, and soon moved his eyes downward, where he became entranced by the fleet swinging of the slim copper pendulum. In a mere minute, his face lost its determined guise, his shoulders drooped, and he closed his eyes with avowed resignation. For the first time in his life, Paul Angeloni was regretful. Like the losing pitcher of the seventh game of the World Series, he was benumbed by the realization that he had failed, and the reason why he failed. He didn’t do well enough. Strangely, he wasn’t bothered that everyone would know that he had failed. What bothered him was that he’d never before failed to produce; he’d always delivered the goods. In his own mind, he was the best damn bottom line man in the business. Now, he was a failure. Until this very moment, he had proved himself thoroughly incapable of ceding to this fact.
Angeloni showed no outward emotion as he lifted his head and looked at the pony tail man. “So where are we going for coffee?” he said stoically, surprising the pony tail man with his sudden apparent acceptance of his fate. “About a mile away”, Phil Roman said. “And what do we do there?” Angeloni asked. “We talk”, Roman said. “Can we go now?” Angeloni asked. Roman glanced at the items on the desk and said, “Sure”. “Good. I’m thirsty”, Angeloni said.
posted by Erich Schmidt | 10:54 AM
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