Fighting for Your
Job -- Setup
by
Sal Bruno
Jack Baker was a successful businessman, building his moderate but financially
stable empire on hard work, sweat and determination. Starting out on the
streets as a peddler, he knew a man who can sweat and work with his hands is a
man who will be employed all his life. It is those prissy boys who started and
will end their lives behind a desk, pushing paper, who need to rely on shrinks
and pills to keep themselves together. not Jack or his men.... they were set
for life.... or so he thought.
Jack called a staff meeting and told the guys the bad news. The mass of muscle, sweat and handsome faces before him just sat there, staring at the man they had worked so hard for, not wanting to hear what he had to say. You could smell the male aroma of perspiration and testosterone in the air as Jack described the painful decision. Three people had to go, but how?
For all his street savvy and rough exterior, Jack just could not make the choice himself. Instead, Jack decided to turn it over to the guys themselves: they would decide which of them had to leave, by whatever ways they found necessary. Three men, three resignations by Friday on his deck, plain and simple. Since it was Wednesday, time was short, and the tensions were high.
After Jack left the room, the tension level just kept rising. One sales guy, Bert Franklin, stood up and announced, "Boys, I'm near retirement, so I'm going to bow out gracefully. This company has been good to me, and you guys have your lives ahead of you, so you guys fight it out among yourselves as to who else has to go. I'll tell Jack my decision. And I wish the rest of you good luck. " And he left. That left four warehouse boys and four salesmen, with two people left to be let go. Fight it out he said.
Finally, one of the salesmen, Tony Terrelli, stood up and issued an idea and a challenge all rolled into one. "I don't know about you guyz, but I'm gonna fight for my job to the bitter end, literally. Any of youse wants to fight me back, let me know now, because I'm not going down easy."
Tony's
message and challenge were nothing to take lightly. At 6'1, 210, he was a honed
fighting machine in martial arts and boxing, and in his youth had been known to
bust up some faces both for kicks and for honor. His fists might be the only
thing to save this job, and he knew he had to go with his best shot, so to
speak.
Steve Stanhorn stood up next, and said, "I issue the same challenge to the
warehouse boys. Each one of us is going to have to fight for his job....
literally." Steve was easily the biggest guy in the warehouse. At 6'4,
250, his tree trunk legs helped lift large boxes all day, and his 18" guns
were not some gym boy's pretty muscle but real man's hard work brawn. The other
men nodded in agreement, and you could see the barely perceptible clenching of
fists, tightening of pecs and preening of the male animal which precedes
combat. Salesman Frank Jackson stood up to Tony and said, "I'm in, and
want you to be the first one taken down, prettyboy." Frank, as the only
black man on staff, had a bone to pick with the Bronx Italian prettyboy. He'd
heard some comments through the grapevine about Tony's views on black men in suit
and tie....and how "they" never deserved to become WHITE collar. And
now Frank wanted to shove Tony's face in his own bravado. Frank continued,
"Let's set the times and rules now, men. We've got two days to hand in
resignations, and we gotta move fast.... I don't want you having to rush
filling out your paperwork, boy." Tony cracked a small smile and sat back,
"You’re on, black boy.... then Reed and O'Reilly get it on, and the two
losers will fight one more time to determine who gets canned." Reed and
O'Reilly had no choice but agree. Secretly, Sam Reed had looked at Tom O'Reilly
and thought how handsome his pretty Irish face would look with a bloody lip and
busted open eye. Now, he'd simply have to use that motivation to keep his job.
The warehouse team all agreed as well. The fight schedule was set for tomorrow,
Thursday night, in the warehouse, 6 p.m. First, the salesmen, then the
warehouse boys. Gear was whatever you wore to work: suit and tie for the
salesmen, jeans and work boots for the warehouse men. The rules: anything goes.
The stakes: your job, your dignity and your masculinity, all on the line. Time
limit: none. Winner declared by KO of opponent, no submissions, no room for
argument over the endings, nothing less.
As each man went home that night, they each thought of how they could gain an
advantage. Some ideas were ingenious, some desperate, but the rules did say
NHB. And the remaining team would be bonded for life. 24 hours from now, the
fights begin......
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