At 14:37h, my direct manager, Bartholomew Sternwood, pinged me via Office Communicator. His two instant messages, as well as my reply, are reproduced below, verbatim:
B. Sternwood 2:37pm
Mr. Cabe.
B. Sternwood 2:59pm
id [sic] apreciate [sic] the curtesy [sic] of a promt [sic] reply. Come 2 [sic] my office
M. Cabe 3:21pm
Yes, sir, absolutely. I do apologize; I was in the bathroom.
At 15:23h, having safely locked my computer screen, I walked up the seven flights of stairs to Mr. Sternwood’s office whereupon I discovered his door closed in what could be considered a heinous violation of our company’s “Open-Door Policy.” After cinching my unemployed roommate’s tie to a more reputable position, I cleared my throat and knocked firmly, but sans authority. Mr. Sternwood replied with a muffled “come in” and I opened the door at 15:37h.
Mr. Sternwood stood, and, extending his arm, pointed to the chair in which he thought it best I should sit.
“Ah, Cabe. Please,” he said.
Despite having had multiple disciplinary-related conversations with Mr. Sternwood, this marked the first time I’d ventured inside his office, so the mounted and stuffed pheasant, with wings outstretched and legs dangling, on the wall behind him took me by surprise.
“Should I, uh–”
“Yes, by all means, Cabe, close the door.”
“Thank you, sir.” I said, and closed the door.
“Have a seat, Cabe.”
From my position, the wings of the stuffed pheasant resembled feathered ears sticking out from either side of Mr. Sternwood’s bald head. Trying not to stare, I focused instead on my hands, which I decided would be best folded and placed in my lap. Mr. Sternwood had gone with placing his elbows on his desk and clasping his hands together. He leaned forward, an adjustment that resulted in the pheasant looking as though it were sitting directly atop his head. He did not speak straightaway, but at 15:40h delved into the below conversation.
“Do you hear that, Cabe?”
“What, sir?”
“Just listen a moment, will you?” he said and gestured with his hands for me to shush. My eyes slowly trailed across the room and back again.
“Hear it now, Cabe?”
“I hear nothing, sir.”
“That’s exactly right. Silence. More importantly though, Cabe, based on your body language, it’s an awkward silence. And, all things considered, today is, historically, our least awkwardly silent day of the year. Let me provide you with a few statistics. This company has not had one documented ASE [Awkward Silence Error] the day after the Super Bowl since 1968. Not even in ‘95, Cabe. In short, we depend on the Super Bowl to keep the YASM [Yearly Awkward Silence Mean] low. Do you know how many awkward silences we have on record today, Cabe?”
“I haven’t checked the repor–”
“Four. We’ve had four documented ASEs today. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what sort of havoc ASEs wreak on our productivity; you’ve been to the meetings.”
“Yes, but, Mr. Sternwood, with all due respect, I hadn’t had an awkward silence all day until just a moment ago,” I said defensively.
Mr. Sternwood leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. He nodded in agreement.
“I’m aware of that, Cabe. I am most certainly aware.”
I began to relax some.
“However,” he continued, “you have been the alleged cause of more ASEs than anyone in your department. That doesn’t include today’s four, mind you.”
“That can’t be righ–”
“The numbers don’t lie, Cabe,” he said. “More exactly, employee complaints don’t lie. Does that make sense? You know Hester Bustecoup, don’t you, Cabe?”
“Yes, she works in marketing.” I shifted in my seat.
“I have a formal letter of complaint filed by Mrs. Bustecoup concerning a conversation she claims took place between the two of you today at 09:22h. Did you, in fact, speak with Mrs. Bustecoup today?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, in this formal letter of complaint, Mrs. Bustecoup contends that the ASE she documented in the system at 09:30h was a direct result of her conversation with you. Do you mind if I read her complaint aloud?”
I shook my head. Mr. Sternwood cleared his throat and placed a pair of reading glasses on the edge of his nose. He then held up Mrs. Bustecoup’s letter and began:
“At approximately 09:23h, I incurred an ASE (which I documented) following a conversation with customer service agent, Matthew Cabe. Upon discussing the subject of the 2014 Super Bowl Halftime Show, I asked Mr. Cabe if he thought Macklemore should have headlined the show instead of Bruno Mars given that Mack is a Seattle native and devoted Seahawks fan. I’ve included, in bold, Mr. Cabe’s reply: ‘Macklemore’s short, though albeit successful-thus-far, career is a testament to just how effective the music industry – and corporate America on a whole, really – has become in the digital age in identifying trends in independent music and appropriating those trends faster than we’re capable of processing, which results in a vast majority of the population being duped into thinking they are actually experiencing something entirely authentic and raw and artistic as opposed to yet another industry cash cow shoved out there for every clueless bastard to devour.’ Needless to say, Mr. Cabe’s sentiments, partly due to how offensive they were to Macklemore, caught me so off guard that I was rendered speechless for approximately eight seconds. As a result, I am filing this formal complaint in order that the ASE may be reviewed and, hopefully, stricken from my employee record. Comments such as Mr. Cabe’s, in my opinion (which is based on 18 years of unblemished service), have no place in a professional setting such as the one in which we conduct day-to-day business.”
Upon finishing, Mr. Sternwood gently set Mrs. Bustecoup’s complaint down on his desk and removed his reading glasses.
“I will spare you the three additional formal complaints. But all four leave me no choice but to ask the glaring question, and I pray, for your sake, you are forthright in your response. So, Cabe, did you watch Super Bowl XLVIII?”
I felt the sweat start to accumulate in my armpits; very soon the underarms of my shirt would be visibly damp.
“It’s a simple question, Cabe. Did you, or did you not, watch yesterday’s Super Bowl?”
It was then that a moment of silence occurred that verged into the infamous gray area of company policy regarding ASEs. As it stands, the company guidebook states:
“All silences lasting six (6) seconds in duration or longer, and which are the immediate result of conversation(s) between two or more non-exempt employees, are considered hazardous to the financial stability and natural yield of the company, and must be documented in the Awkward Silence Error Database (ASED). Silences lasting between four (4) and five (5) seconds are to be reviewed by the exempt manager directly in charge of the non-exempt employee whom [sic] may or may not have violated company policy. Upon review, the exempt manager must choose either to log the silence as an ASE or render the silence’s duration ‘Too Short to Tell’. In instances involving the latter, the exempt manager must file a formal appeal on behalf of the non-exempt employee that will then be reviewed by a panel of three (3) district managers prior to or at the end of a six (6) month period. After review of the formal appeal, the panel must unanimously agree upon the length of the silence in question, based on evidence provided in the formal appeal, whereupon a conclusion will be presented to the exempt manager and non-exempt employee at a documented review hearing. If the panel concludes that the silence falls within the four (4) to five (5) second range, the silence must then be documented in the Near Awkward Silence Error Database (NASED) and applied to the non-exempt employee’s personal record as an ASE, but highlighted in yellow rather than orange.”
I watched Mr. Sternwood’s ears twitch ever so slightly while the seconds between his question and my response ticked away aggressively on the clock sewn into the chest of the mounted pheasant, which, at that moment, resembled a large tumor protruding out of the right side of Mr. Sternwood’s head.
“No,” I finally replied, and exasperatedly recounted the last few seconds in my head.
“I see,” he said. “Look, Cabe, I don’t need to read you the policy on ASEs in the company guidebook. You’re well aware of our no-tolerance stance. Yet you sit before me as the root cause of not one but four documented ASEs on the one day out of the year when they should be – and have been until now, mind you – virtually impossible to incur. Does that make sense? All you had to do was watch, Cabe. I know the game was pretty much a wash by the end of the first half, but there are always the commercials.”
“Sir, if I may?”
“By all means.”
“My roommate and I can’t really afford cable at the moment, and–”
“Cabe, this is not the time to be asking for a raise.”
“No, sir, I wouldn’t dream of–”
“I don’t really know how to put this.” He stopped for exactly three seconds. “Numero Uno, ASEs diminish productivity. That much has been proven. Numero Two, you are the cause of more ASEs than anyone in our department. So, Cabe, you are ‘bad for business’ to use the idiom. Does that make sense? You do understand what an idiom is, don’t you, Cabe? You did get your state university master’s degree in English, didn’t you? I think that pretty much sums the whole mess up really, if you want my honest opinion.”
At this point, I noticed my foot tapping against the floor faster than an engaged piston, which caused my knee to bounce up and down furiously. Mr. Sternwood looked down at my knee and smirked.
“So, what do you have to say for yourself, Cabe?”
I focused on slowing my foot and again shifted in my seat.
“I presume you enjoy your job or else why would you show up on a daily basis?”
I placed my hand on my knee and pushed down.
“I presume you want to continue to be employed by the company or else why would you be so nervous? Is it the economy, Cabe? Fear of the unknown? Does your stomach tighten when you think back to what you pictured your future self doing after college?”
My foot stopped.
“Do you depend too heavily on the encouragement of others? Has the wellspring of support dried? Did everyone stop caring about what you thought you had to say? Are you drained of confidence? Do you go home every night fearing that exhaustion has wiped every creative ambition from the core of your being? Are you afraid you’re insane? Is it the tedium, Cabe? Are you too good for this sort of work? Do you feel like you’ve been cheated or do you feel like you did the cheating and now you’re paying the piper? Have you been failed or are you a failure?”
He stopped for another three seconds.
“I mean, what in hell are you even doing here?”
