The New Hire (A Parable)

For G.J.
A pleasure working for - this story is unrelated.

Back when my dear friend Franklin returned from his multiyear stay abroad, he was very evasive if asked why he came back. It only a few weeks before, when we last spoke on the phone, that he assured me he was happy where he was – happier than he’d sounded in a long, long time – and that nothing would get him to come home anytime soon.

I once challenged his previous assertion over a couple of drinks, and all he said he had a strange dream that wasn’t nightmare. He didn’t use words like vision or epiphany, but to me, having never experienced anything of that sort, it sure sounded like it.
It was cryptic and, based on his description, bizarre. If you want to know the details, you best read his memoires – any second-hand retelling from me would be at most a faded carbon copy.

We never spoke of it again, but the other day, when he had a few, he let slip the full name of his former boss Jonathan. In the many years of our friendship, we rarely spoke about work – it was always books and music and films.

Under a pretence, yes, I know, naughty me, I reached out to that gentleman asking for an interview to regarding something I read on his blog. I am a freelance anthropologist after all. He agreed.
When I called him a few days later I mentioned my hometown, which led Jonathan to ask whether I knew this guy Franklin – since we came from the same village. That’s how this ball got rolling:

Jonathan had started a small business with two employees. One handled operations, the other marketing and communication. Each of them doing top-notch work in their respective field, helping each other out when either was swamped.
Administrative tasks, such as bookkeeping, strategy, client acquisition and stuff, as Jonathan succinctly put it, he did himself. Business was going well, and he soon needed a pair of extra hands.

Enter Franklin. Although over-qualified for the mundane tasks he was hired – he insisted he preferred dull work and leaving the office at the end of the workday without any responsibly lingering on his mind. That gave him the freedom he wanted to spend as much time and energy enjoying his books and records.

A few days before Franklin’s arrival, Jonathan informed his two workers “coming Monday a new guy will start – he’s going to help us run his ship. And, before you ask, yes, his first task will be taking care of all the mess on the shelf over there”.
Walking back to his desk he could hear the two whisper about the improved outlook. The last few months had taken their toll. It would be a stretch to say they were stressed out, though.
Putting in a hard day’s work, day after day after day, usually amounts to a lot of hard work. But so long as you can find a couple of minutes every day to joke around, it is manageable. If they were miserable, they certainly did not show it, and during the bi-weekly chats with the boss they never let on.

As far as Jonathan could tell, his two main guys were happy enough working for him. One even mentioned, during a team building event – which, if you don’t know, is the professional term for going out for drinks on company buck – stated he was glad old Joe – that’s what they both called him – was nothing like the bastard he’d worked for previously. The other guy just laughed and called for another round to toast to that.

During the first few weeks of Franklin’s tenure everything was splendid. He sorted out all the old stuff as Joe had promised. And gradually got more involved with helping the boys out. When one asked the other to lend a hand, Franklin offered his. When one could did not want to deal with a customer complaint, Franklin took the phone receiver and endured the earful. And since one of them was really bad at lying, it was usually Franklin’s task to explain to customers that the person in charge was away from his desk, and that he would happily take a message, and assured whoever was on the other end that he is taking care of the problem personally, or if beyond his expertise, that boss will get back to them with the best solution shortly.

Franklin, one of the few occasions he did mention his old job, told me that talking on the phone with strangers was what he hated most about his time there. I recall when he started working there, he was excited about having only his two friendly colleagues and their kind supervisor to deal with.

Seeing that Franklin, with all his flaws – the key one being a profound dislike of strangers – was capable of a lot more than just archiving, organising and taking notes – Jonathan decided to make better use of his improved arsenal. Over time he delegated a number of boring yet important to-do’s to him. Things that in the past he knew he could not pass on his main guys, whether it was a question of confidence or diligence or ability or any other reason. You can’t ask someone who barely knows how to use basic computer functions to come up with complex technical solutions.
Of course, you can ask them, and dump it on them regardless, hoping for an acceptable result. But Jonathan quickly learned their limitations and regularly had to seek external help. Contractors – each of them with their own ideas on how he should run his business – with usually hefty price-tags.
Yes, business was good, but to spend several days explaining a requirement and discussing convoluted approaches was a luxury he could not afford. Franklin may have lacked the initiative to tackle such problems on his own, but oftentimes after overhearing them could provide some useful advice or practical solutions. He was resourceful for sure – he just really wasn’t fussed about it getting involved in the business more than he felt necessary. Months and months it went on and Franklin became almost indispensable to the company – he became somewhat a fixer to them.

When I asked Jonathan what changed, he couldn’t tell me. Or, at any rate, he wouldn’t tell me.
Given that we were talking on the phone there was no way for me to describe his facial expression, but judging from his voice, which was smooth and steady throughout the hourlong conversation, he sounded genuinely clueless.

We exchanged some more pleasantries and agreed to talk again soon to discuss ‘the thing I initially reached out to him about’ in more detail in the coming weeks.

Needless to say, next time I was over at Franklin’s house I mentioned that I bumped into an old boss of his and expressed my surprise about these kinds of chance encounters only ever happening by accident. This great big world is too large and too random for our paths to cross with any sense of purpose.
At first, he only responded with ‘oh, yeah?’ and lit a cigi. After a few drags he added ‘did he say anything about me? He still angry with me?’
I told him that as far as I could tell the guy seemed to have only good memories of his employment and if he was in any way upset, he hid it better than anyone I ever met. I inquired why Jonathan would be angry. And that is when Franklin, for the first time I can remember, opened up about something personal. He stated although he was indeed happy working there, got along well with everyone and all the usual niceties. The first half-year or so everything was great – the only time I ever heard him use that word in the context of work environment – but over time things got increasingly sour between him and his two colleagues. He could not be certain about what changed, but his best guess was that either a trivial remark, a stupid (in his case probably offensive) joke or something else he said, hit a nerve and ticked off one or both of his workmates. Neither ever said anything, but he could sense their demeanour change ever so slightly.
For the longest time, he figured it must have been something about work picking up (all four of them were really, really busy, for several months) or relationship troubles outside the office. He was never the type to nose into other people’s business – if you can’t tell, that’s more my department – but don’t tell Franklin – and one day he simply handed in his notice to a flabbergasted Jonathan, thanking him for the opportunity he was given and for everything that he learnt during his time, but wouldn’t give a reason other than ‘I think time has come for me to move back home. Family matters I’d rather not discuss. I hope you can understand.’

Having been around at the time I could easily piece together that the family trouble he referred to was everything to do with his best friend Julie and his brother splitting up for good. Each of them devasted, and each of them grateful for his support (even though, or maybe especially because, he made it clear to both that he was not taking any sides and refused to stand in the line of any fire).

I pressed on "that explains why you wanted to come back home – but it doesn’t explain why you wanted to leave your happy place far away from here."
Finally he gave in:
“I just could not take the shit anymore:
At first I had made an effort to help out with, you know, contributing to the business wherever I could. Honestly speaking I was rather bored with the mundane tasks I was hired to do.
The guys seemed to appreciate. They seemed to get used to it, too.
But then, when the boss gradually gave me more responsibilities and other things to do, I was neither bored with it, correction, not as bored as before, and I was usually too busy with that work myself to go out of my way to look for ways to help with theirs. I still took the occasional call, I was not avoiding helping them. Just, getting on with things so in the evening I didn’t have to think about work stuff. They never said anything to my face, but I could hear the odd whisper here and there.
One day one of them once stared in my direction when carrying documents to file in the archive. I proposed we go for drinks after work sometime. Just the two or three of us, without old Joe.
He said he was busy all week. And afterwards never found time to tell me when he was free.

Jonathan once told me that he enjoys the fresh wind I brought to his crew, and he was delighted having be aboard his ship.
In hindsight, though, I can tell you I am not a sailor, and it wasn’t in my blood to stick around to see if that boat was meant to swim or sink in the long run.
I have found my haven since, so maybe I am the only one who came out on top.
Next time you bump into Captain Joe – that’s what I used to call him. Tell him I said ‘hi and that I hope the rats haven’t chewed through the hull.”

By the time Franklin finished his spiel he put a vinyl on his record player and held he cover up.
It was obvious then and there that he and I were more interested in listening on what was on the disc, and we never spoke about work again.

I was never in the shipping business –- but I guess that the last part is some sort of industry slang.
To this day I don’t know what the company Franklin had worked for produced – probably not boats.

Sincerely,

Arthur C. Millen

Author’s Note:
Since Franklin regularly used my likeness in his plays (something vehemently denies) I reckoned it was only fair that I took the liberty to write about him (yes, I will also deny that if he asks me).
With all my vices, a big one being my nicolism, I am, like everyone else in this story, just a human being, trying to figure things out in life. Sticking to my guns I remain with this:
communication breakdown is at the core of every breakdown in interpersonal relationships, especially when everyone involved thinks ‘that goes without saying’.
That reminds of an interview I once read about by a writer whose name eludes me.
It was something about the correlation of truth and thinking and the two are all but mutually exclusive. I will look it up and write you about it soon.