Everything Changes

transmitters with microscopic swooshes on their undersides.
    “I’m sorry,” I say exasperatedly. “But don’t you ever get tired of bending over for the Craig Hodgeses of this world? You have this whole network of systems you’ve created—you’ve practically buried us in systems—all designed to avoid this very scenario, to make sure it never happens. So what the hell is the point of it all if we have to take the hit when it’s someone else’s fault?”
    “I take issue with that, Zack,” Bill says hotly. “I don’t bend over for anybody. I’m just looking for the most fiscally responsible solution for us. That’s my job. Our job. We are professionals. You don’t piss away a major account because you happen to be of the opinion that your client contact is an asshole. In the grand scheme of things, fifty grand might be a drop in the bucket, a small price to pay for holding on to Nike. All I’m saying is, we don’t want to be penny-wise and pound-foolish here.”
    “No, we certainly don’t want that,” I say with maybe just a soupçon more irony than I probably should.
    “Zack,” Bill says, slowly removing his glasses and assuming a deliberately false avuncular tone. “Do you have a problem?”
    Every instinct tells me to back down. I should let him take me through this exercise, this middle-management masturbation, answer his questions, and quietly take his direction. I’m disrespecting him in front of his entire department, which he doesn’t deserve and which will further compel him to assert his authority with force. A bad career move, any way you look at it. But today they’re going to stick a tube through my dick and into my bladder, and while I’ve never had that done before, I’m fairly certain I’d prefer to have my eyeballs cattle branded, and that spot on my bladder wall may very well have some genuine life-changing implications, so sue me if I’m having a hard time thinking consequentially about much else. And he did ask, after all. “Yes, I do, Bill,” I say, getting to my feet. “I have a big fucking problem. I am sick and tired of kissing the asses of poorly educated, lazy pencil pushers, of ignoring the principle and paying for the indolence and incompetence of others, all in the name of making the goddamn sale. When did being right become worthless, and being at fault irrelevant? We eat shit on a daily basis, and I worry about the long-term effects of so much fiber in my diet. I may be nothing more than a middleman, but goddamn it, I’m a professional middleman, and there should be a certain degree of dignity and fair play that goes along with that!”
    My tirade is greeted with a stunned silence, and you can hear every molecule in the room look up to see how deeply I’ve put my foot into it this time. I certainly didn’t mean for it to come out as a call to arms, but goddamn if the rest of the account execs aren’t nodding in appreciation. There’s even a faint smattering of applause, but Bill quashes that by bringing his fist down like a gavel on the table and getting slowly to his feet, and I can actually see him anxiously scanning his mental database of clichés to find one appropriate to this discussion. “Listen, Zack,” he says, apparently giving up. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, and there might be a forum to debate our policies and strategies when it comes to issues like this, but this is not it. You need to calm yourself down and focus on the issue at hand. This is no time to take your eye off the ball.” Sports analogy number two, if you’re counting, which I am. “It’s just business. You can’t take it personally.”
    “Apparently, I can.”
    “Well, regardless of what you think of Hodges, he’s still your client, the Spandler Corporation’s client. Remember the rule of the three Cs. Crisis plus Communication equals Control. So be a professional and return the man’s calls,” Bill says sternly. “Work it out.”
    I sigh deeply, already regretting the whole conversation. They’ll be talking about this all day now, exaggerating it to everyone else in the office, wondering if I’m poised to go postal like Clay. My standing in the burnout pool has no doubt just risen considerably. Come to think of it, I might want to take some of that action myself. “I’ll call him,” I say.
    “And you touch base with me after you speak to him, okay?” Sports analogy number three, and we have a hat trick.
    “Will do.”
    He starts to