Fighting for your Job --setup

 

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 was a streetwise, cocky SOB all his life. He dropped out of school at 14 to go to work to help support his family after his father suddenly dropped dead, leaving three kids and a widow. Jack idolized his dad, a rough-edged, raw brute of a man with a thick muscular body and strength to match....and a heart of gold for his wife and kids. One day his heart just stopped, and he was dead. So, Jack had to become the 'man' of the house of one widow and two sisters. While he had some chances to get in with the 'wrong' crowd for a fast buck, he resisted and instead worked his way up from paperboy and shoe shiner to warehouse worker, manager and finally small business owner. Over time, his supply and storage business became one of the largest on the East Coast. But recent downturns in the economy forced Jack to do something he never had to do before: he had to let some of his hardworking staff go to keep the company alive. There were 5 guys on the sales force, and 4 in the warehouse. One thing they all had in common was, well bluntly, they were all extremely built and handsome. Jack's rule was simple: if you work here, you have to be in top physical shape. Customers loved visiting Jack just to have a look around the office at Baker's Boys. Even under the salesmen's suit and tie or the warehouse uniform of tight t-shirt and jeans, you could see the large full pecs, biceps, delts and traps, thighs and butts of men who spent hours at the gym, after long hours at work. The warehouse workers were even more built, due to the nature of their job. But of the nine men on staff, three had to be cut before the end of the month. Three men.

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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