Rich and Bossy (Rich Boys)

30. Hazel

CHAPTER 30

Hazel

The weirdest thing about all of this is having to go to work in the middle of it. Like right now, driving in to start my normal shift. Having to try to do my job with everyone staring nonstop, including management. I need to be here for everybody else, to show them I’m not intimidated, and they shouldn’t be either. I don’t want them to think I have some big head like I’m a celebrity or something since I’ve been on national news.

I will gladly pass that baton to someone else the second I can.

Besides, I do want to keep my job. It also feels kind of nice, knowing Paxton is trying to minimize any pushback. That he actually wants to do the right thing for his workers.

When all is said and done, I still need a place to work while I finish up my degree. I’m not like Campbell, turning this kind of thing into my career. That would be awesome. It’s what I want eventually, but right now, my heart is still with Rapid and my friends here. I will always have a soft spot for this place. It started out amazing. They’ve just grown so fast.

I always thought maybe I could move up to a position in HR, at corporate here, but now, I really do think maybe I could do something like Campbell. Maybe it’d be more meaningful.

There’s no pretending my stomach isn’t in knots, tightening with each turn of the wheels as I pull past all the media vans and trucks into the campus parking lot. It’s like a small city here, and once again I’m reminded of how many lives are being affected. There are so many of us, and so many families behind each employee.

When I think of them, it’s easier to continue the drive down the long, winding entrance road, past the security gate with a flash of my badge. One of the truck drivers is going in the other direction, and I recognize him after having a discussion about the union a couple of days ago. He was somewhat on the fence, nervous because his oldest just got accepted to his dream college with partial scholarships, which of course means a lot of bills for Mom and Dad. He doesn’t want his son to have any student loans. I hate to think anybody would have to weigh their options like that. They all have so much at stake, which makes it so meaningful when they tell me they’re leaning our way.

But by the time we finished talking, it seemed like he felt a lot better about what we’re doing. I knew there were some employees who would be risking a lot, but it seems like everyone is. Every single person I talk to.

Campbell warned me about it. A lot of the resistance we’re facing or could possibly face in the future stems from misinformation, or even a complete lack of understanding. That union-busting meeting didn’t help things either, which is exactly why they did it.

I don’t even know the credentials of the guy who did it, if any of his data could be confirmed, but you put someone in a familiar outfit who talks like a manager in front of people and they tend to buy the story, no matter what.

We’ve done a fantastic job to keep politics out of the whole thing, and I’m sure Paxton has something to do with it. Campbell said it would be a top priority for their plan of attack. If they can identify our movement with a particular political party, they can get a lot of people in the opposite party to dismiss it immediately. They don’t want to be aligned with anything that might suggest they’re involved with it.

It sucks, really. I don’t care about politics. Neither does Campbell. We just care about workers and how they’re treated. We’ve said from the beginning, every time it’s asked, we will never endorse any political candidates. Anyone is welcome to join. We want anyone who wants more rights and better work conditions, that’s all.

The only way to combat most of this is education, reaching out and starting from square one as if the person I’m speaking to has never so much as heard of a union. That’s why it’s such a grind. I have to make time for every single individual worker and answer all their questions, listen to their unique situation. And I really love doing it, getting to know people and the challenges they’re facing. Almost every person I talk to says something like, “I never knew that. I didn’t know that’s what a union does, I thought they were just bad and got donations for politicians. Corruption everywhere.”

I swear, I have to grind my teeth every time I hear it. Have there been corrupt unions in the past? Yes. But that’s not supposed to be what they do.

That’s what management does. If they divide everyone, they crush any opposition and then they can dominate the working conditions. Workers have no idea how much power they have if they can push aside some differences on things that have nothing to do with the workplace and join forces to negotiate and bargain. Our labor is the most valuable thing we have, it’s what the company wants us for, and they want it for as cheap as possible. It’s our job to push back on that, and we can’t do it alone, or they’ll just replace that single person. They can’t replace us all at once though.

There’s a group of people in the parking lot, lingering by their cars when I pull into an empty spot. They exchange looks before heading towards me. It’s only their smiles, and the fact that one of them is holding a cup of coffee extended in my direction, that give me the courage to step out. They’re on my side. They’re not here to attack me.

Cheryl is one of them. “You were awesome on TV last night.” She steps aside so Jenny can hand me my coffee.

“Yeah, well, any of you are welcome to take my place at any time.” I laugh nervously.

They laugh too, then shake their heads. “No thank you,” says Jenny. “You’re doing a good job for us.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” I murmur. I hold up the coffee and try to impress upon them that they don’t need to cater to me.

“We figured you’d need it after all the running around you’ve been doing, plus work. People see that. People know.” Jenny holds up her own cup, grinning. “I’m exhausted, and all I did was watch you on there.”

She’s not wrong about me being exhausted. And I’m not the only one, either—Campbell admitted last night she needed to sleep while I was at work. She’s been up for like seventy-two straight hours.

I know she misses her family, her husband and baby. Hell, I’m sure she misses her work at her union too. She’s never admitted that to me. It’s not like we’re close friends or anything, and I wouldn’t ask. Still, there are times when she steps aside to have a private moment on the phone and I know she’s talking to them. I see the little smile she wears, the sort of smile she tries to bite back but can’t suppress.

I know that smile. I know what it’s like to feel a little flutter of excitement when that special person is on the other end of the phone, when I’ve been thinking about them and how they’ve been thinking about me, too.

It wasn’t until recently, but I get it now. I know what it’s like to miss somebody—and it’s only been a week for me. Granted we aren’t married either, so maybe I get like five percent of what she’s feeling, but bottom line, I can still relate.

I want to see him so bad. I knew it would be hard, but it’s excruciating. I’m afraid to call or text him. I’m afraid to do anything knowing the truth might come out and sink everything. For all I know they’ve tapped my phone lines or hacked me somehow.

It sounds paranoid, but there are billions of dollars at stake. It’ll make people do insane things.

How much worse would I feel if we were married with a child and I hadn’t seen them in weeks?

That’s what Campbell is dealing with.

I need to focus. I have a long shift ahead of me. I take a long sip from my coffee cup, grateful for the way it warms me inside. It doesn’t matter that I’ve grown up in Minneapolis. Cold is cold, and winter is hauling toward us like a freight train, plus busy season.

And it’s certainly cold in the warehouse when we make it in, but we’re all used to that by now. At least the walls block the wind on our end, not like down at the loading dock where it can shoot in around the trucks.

I greet a few people on the way in, doing what I can not to shrink away from the attention. It’s getting easier, honestly, and I don’t feel so much like I need to look over my shoulder when it happens.

People are smiling.

A few people say something to me.

“Loved what you said last night.”

“Thanks, seriously.” I nod in passing, acknowledging them so I’m not rude. Right now, I want to get to work.

I have to be insanely tedious about doing every little thing perfectly, by the company handbook.

I’m more than happy to talk about unions all day long, but I need to set an example and earn my money, too. I don’t want to give Paul or anyone at corporate a reason to write me up.

“Hazel?” I turn with a smile at the sound of my name.

“Yeah?” I turn around to the sight of one of Paul’s assistant managers.

My entire demeanor changes, but I do my best to remain respectful. “What can I do for you?” It’s not easy, but I make sure to keep my voice light and friendly.

“Mr. Morrison needs to see you in his office.”

Now, heads start turning, fast. All over, like that meerkat show when they all stop at once and pop up to look at something. There’s murmuring all around us, but he ignores it. I don’t, and I can’t. I look around, trying to smile.

No reason to worry, everything is fine .

Something feels very off though.

I keep my head held high, following him to the elevator and making sure to look full of confidence. I have no doubt Paul may try to write me up for something stupid, or he’s been ordered to do whatever he can to mess with me.

He’ll probably make veiled references to how I spoke about the warehouse conditions on TV, even though I didn’t mention any specific names, because Campbell said not to.

He’s at his desk, but he doesn’t look distressed or angry or anything like that. In fact, he looks like a man prepared to share good news. He looks way too comfortable, relaxed right now.

I steel myself, remembering everything Campbell has gone over with me, for every single possible circumstance. He can’t intimidate me. He’s not allowed to, for one, by law.

“Miss Strous.” He smiles, trying to be as formal as possible. “I would ask you to take a seat, but this won’t take long. This is a very busy day.”

“I’m sure we’ll be busy on the floor, too. Holiday season coming up.” Only just now I realize I never put my coffee down, and the cup is trembling in my hand. Not from fear, but from irritation.

He’s so smug, so infuriatingly sure of himself. I can only imagine how many asses he kissed to get into this position. Not that there’s anything wrong with working hard and moving up, he’s just so smarmy, self-righteous.

“Well, for now, you don’t need to be concerned about that.” He looks like he’s trying to hold back the widest grin of all time when he turns to me. “We’re going to have to ask you to go home.”

That, I didn’t expect. I’ve never been written up. I thought maybe that’s what this would be, but I figured my direct supervisor would do something about it. Maybe it was naive of me, but they have to take steps. “I just got here.”

“Yes, but you aren’t needed for your shift today.”

“Why am I being sent home?” I plant my feet right where they are, ready to hear an explanation.

“This is not a discussion or a debate, Miss Strous. Security is currently clearing out your personal belongings and packaging them up for you, and they will escort you from the building to your vehicle once this conversation is over.”

I can barely hear a word he’s saying over the pounding in my head. Campbell and I went over this, it’s just so damn degrading. I’ve given this place five years of my life. My blood and sweat is in the concrete, and this smug jerk is just tossing that away. Is it even legal for him to do it like this? “What kind of a game are you playing here?” I shouldn’t snarl or bare my teeth, but it’s not easy to be calm and rational when someone is firing you for no reason.

“It’s not a game. They’ll be here with your stuff shortly. And then you may go.” He looks around his office, shrugging.

“You can’t fire me because of the union stuff. I have a perfect record here. This is illegal. I hope you know that.” I need to shut my mouth. Campbell coached me to just shut up and accept this if it happens.

He winces a little when I mention the legality but maintains his composure. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time now to vilify me in your next interview. Plenty of material to work with.” He smirks right at me.

I knew it was about my interview. I just stand there, shaking my head, determined to maintain my composure as best as I can, before they perp march me past everyone downstairs.

He holds up a hand, and for the first time I see the strain etched between his eyebrows. “Whatever you choose to believe or disbelieve, this wasn’t my call. I’m just doing my job, as I’m told to do it.”

I rock back on my heels, and for a moment I’m too stunned to speak. He’s lying. Paxton said he wouldn’t let this happen. That it’d be fair. They have no reason to fire me. It has to be Paul acting independently, there’s no way it came from corporate.

He slides the folder across to me. “Here’s the paperwork. It walks you through all your options, for appealing, the infractions. But I’ve been told to have you escorted from the building by security. So, you are no longer my problem. You can take it up with the contacts on that paperwork. I actually am sad to see you go, because you are a hard worker. And I wish you the best.”

This is really happening. I’m being fired. From the first and only job I’ve ever had.

All these papers have been perfectly crafted by lawyers. It doesn’t look like run of the mill, simple termination papers. No, lawyers specifically put this together to my own circumstances.

I’m pretty sure everything listed on here is fabricated. It has performance quotas listed, clock-in times from years ago, every time I was ever one minute late, is listed. It makes a case that there were no specific cases, but when taken as a whole, I violated blah blah blah.

And Paxton’s the one behind it.

Did he think I wouldn’t find out? Some resistance he put up. It’s been like one week. He couldn’t stall getting me fired for one week?

Paul won’t look at me while he waits for security to come up. It almost feels like this is even worse than what I just went through. He’s never had a problem holding eye contact with me before.

There’s a light tap on the window to his office and a security guard steps in with a box of my stuff. I hear a commotion from another floor.

Paul turns back and shrugs. “Sorry. I really am.”

“What? You’re sorry?”

The security guard walks over and stares right at me. “Let’s go.”

I stand up and take my box from him then start walking toward the elevator. He follows close behind me, updating his position on his little walkie talkie like I’m a damn terrorist. Like he’s walking me through a prison.

Can’t believe Paxton is letting this happen. I know I said I trusted him, but holy crap. Seriously?

I’m numb, almost stumbling down the hall to the elevator doors, staring down at all my stuff in this box. Once the doors open on the bottom floor, there’s an even louder commotion taking place.

There are three more guards waiting for me. But I look around and there are uniformed security guards all over the place, and one of them is in the middle of leading Cheryl out of the building.

“Wait!” I run over before I can think, horrified at the sight of her carting all her stuff out in a box too. “What’s happening?”

“I’m out. They fired me.” Cheryl’s voice is grim, her jaw set in a tight line. It trembles just a little, giving away the emotion she’s trying so hard to hide.

“They fired you too?” Man, I knew this could all get real in a hurry. But this… It looks like some kind of mass cleansing. I glance around and they’re hauling out anyone who has been part of this union talk, anyone with personal stakes in the game. And they are hauling us all right out in front of everyone, as if to say this is you next if you step out of line.

“It’s everyone.” Her jaw is clenched as a security guard starts to try to close off his space next to her, to keep her moving.

Sure enough, here comes Jim with his bandaged hand to protect the wound that’s still healing, and he’s hauling a box with it. Jim who might have permanent nerve damage thanks to that little accident that could’ve been prevented if he had been working in a safer environment. They’re even getting rid of him. In fact, there have to be twenty people being marched out.

When I walk by the breakroom, there’s anti-union flyers plastered all over the walls. It’s all so obvious, so heavy-handed. They couldn’t even bother to be nuanced about it.

“Can they do this?” Jenny is crying openly, wiping her nose on her sleeve while holding a box of her stuff. “Is this legal? They can’t fire us for this, can they? Campbell said it’s illegal.”

I wish I could tell her what she wants to hear. “They’re not supposed to be able to.” I fall in behind her. “I’ll talk to Campbell and get back to all of you, as soon as possible, with a plan. We will fight this.”

“What am I supposed to do? What are any of us supposed to do?” It’s a rhetorical question, of course.

Still, I feel like I need to come up with an answer. I’m the one who got us into this, and now the looks of admiration have turned to what looks like open resentment. It’s exactly what corporate wants. Disappointment. Fear.

Of course, now everybody left behind in the warehouse will be too afraid to so much as breathe the word union . Now, they’ll have an image of armed security leading all of us out, when they go to vote.

“I promise, we will fight this. Don’t freak out, just go home and take a day off.” I wish I had more confidence when I say it.

It’s terrifying. Terrifying as all hell. It’d be one thing if they just did it to me. These people need their jobs.

Can’t believe I believed Paxton. Maybe it’s out of his control, but this is insane. I didn’t read about him resigning, and that’d be the only way I’ll accept he fought against this.