image from forbes.com
“Ms.
Phister, will you come into my office please?” He spoke to her through their
new phone system.
“Yes,
of course,” she said hitting the wrong button. “Just a minute,” she said
hitting the same wrong button.
“Ms.
Phister?”
She
found the right button. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
She
patted her hair. A bad hair day. What an
appropriate term! Celebrities say it,
and the woman meteorologist on channel 8. They were all wearing their hair long and swooshy. Not appropriate for
a woman of my age. She gathered her steno pad and a pen and made the ten
step trip to the boss’s office. Though I’m
not all that old. Just past forty.
She
rapped on the door. She looked at the back of her hand. Maybe a little past 50. Sunspots, not age spots. Mother told me to be
more careful in the sun.
“Ms.
Phister, thank you. Please come in and close the door.”
“Yes,
sir.” Uh oh. Why close the door? There
wasn’t anyone in reception and she really needed to be able to hear if someone
came in.
“Ms.
Phister, please sit down. As you know, our merger with Futures, Inc. has been
approved and we’ll need to make some changes to accommodate their
administrative staff.” He sat in his chair and looked at the mirror on the wall
behind her.
This doesn’t sound
good.
“They’re
young and enthusiastic. They’ll make a big difference.”
This really doesn’t
sound good.
“We’re
also going to have to make changes in our tech support to improve information
management. Our computer system is badly outdated.”
“Sir?”
It and the coffee maker are the things I
have no problem operating. He’s already gotten rid of the Xerox and fax
machines.
“Obsolescence,
Ms. Phister. That’s what we’ve got to get rid of.”
“Oh?”
Fifty-seven’s not obsolete. Is it?
“Our
new telephone system is designed to sync with the new computer system.”
“Sync?”
My Nook is constantly trying to sync with
something.
He
turned around and gazed at the gold and red company logo hanging on the wall
behind him. Global Prospects in clear Helvetica letters slanted a little to the
right. A black arrow underlined it.
Like
a speeding train.
“What
do you think of our logo? Of course it’ll have to change to include Futures.”
Old Mister’s
barely gone. Less than two years. And Young Mister is wanting to change everything.
“But
I like it,” she said. “It’s clear and recognizable. A brand the public is used
to and trusts.”
“Hmmm.”
He
looked at the steno pad she held in her left hand.
“Speaking
of,” he nodded at the pad. “Wouldn’t you rather have one of those tablet
things?”
“Tablet,
sir?”
“You
know. Those little gismos. You could use it to make notes. Google things. Use
it as a GPS.”
“GPS?”
She looked at the steno pad. She’d always used a steno pad. It felt right in
her hand. She could doodle on it, if a meeting got boring. She could tear whole
pages out and dispose of them. No record
of what he’d said or done to be retrieved by some gee-whiz computer geek. Not
that he’d ever done anything actually illegal. Sometimes he seemed to be just
ruminating on it. His father would never have considered it. And she’d never
have gone along with him anyway.
“How
long have you been here?” he asked.
“A
long time, sir,” she said.
“Pretty
much since Dad opened shop, haven’t you?” He looked at the ceiling.
“Yes,
sir.”
“You
were with the firm when he bought this building, weren’t you?” He studied his
hands.
“Yes,
sir.” And, until this morning, I was planning
to be here until retirement.
“The
building’s old, but it’s solid and this is a good location. Uptown.” He picked
something from his sleeve.
“Yes,
sir.” I might be old, but I’m solid, too.
He can’t even look at me.
“We
need to update our look. You know, new furniture. Maybe a change in our color
scheme. A total makeover. Obsolescence. We don’t want to be it. We don’t want
to look like it.” He gazed out the window.
I’m out. He’s trading
me in for a younger model. A member of the tech generation. Trade the old end-of-the-line
Baby Boomer for a millennial.
“You
got this place set up and running when Dad first moved in.”
“Yes,
sir. I did what I could.” And I’ve been
doing what I could ever since.
He
put his palms flat on his desk and looked her in the eye.
“I
need you to do it again.”
“Sir?”
“I
need you to do this for me. You’ll have to work with this old building. I
really don’t want to move."
“No.”
“No?
You won’t do it? Do you want me to get someone in to help you?
“No.
I mean, of course you don’t want to move.” She reached across the desk and
touched his hand. “I don’t want to move either. Let me consider what we’ll
need.”
She
made a note on her steno pad and left the room.
She
stepped back through the door and asked, “Would you like coffee?”
