First message
I'm a turnaround specialist; I streamline acquired companies. People don't like me. That was no different here. That's one of the few givens in my life. I'm the one who trims people into obsolescence. I'm hired for the effectiveness, not my likability. I am very much like a hitman sent to remove what others would otherwise continue to hold onto. I never was one to worry what others thought. I've gotten good over the years at not carrying the lives of the people I dislocate. I sit at the bar surveying the pool tables. Low-level straw bosses first up on the corporate chopping block, also the ones surest of their indispensability. All I can see are the corporate complaints. I watch the faces blend: too many breaks, unable to complete a report on time, and my personal favorite, the unmotivated worker. I get my second drink at the bar and turn to survey the pool tables, and there you are playing rounds with the winner. You're bent over the pool table, sparkling eyes, calculating angle and rebound of the cue ball. The pleased look on your face as the shot sinks and the cue ball bounces to a stop, lining yourself up for the next shot. You were the one who didn't beg, the one who told me what I did and that you knew you no longer had a job. The restructure hasn't been set yet, but you were the only one who refused to perform usefulness. When I get to the table, I put my money down to play the winner