Fuck off john

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...Kelly enjoyed a pleasant reverie of the weekend she and Steve had spent with their kids aboard Sans Peur, as she walked to her office to start another week. 

Chloe had absolutely loved sailing and the kids had gotten along wonderfully. Steve’s little girl, Caithness, whom she’d met for the first time, was absolutely adorable and it was very sweet to see how kind and protective Peter was towards her. It was easy and gratifying to imagine many other occasions their families could share together, maybe even someday…

On her right, she saw Catherine O’Donnell, who worked in administration, coming towards the executive area, apparently headed for Mike’s office.

“Hi, Catherine,” Kelly said and smiled.

“Hello, Ms. Chan,” Catherine replied cheerlessly. Catherine was quiet but was normally in good spirits and Kelly wondered what was troubling her. 

Oh, oh, maybe she’s got bad news for Mike about another order cancellation. 

The thought of that ended her contented musing on the weekend and the reality of work and its problems elbowed its way into her mind. 

Mike scrolled and scrolled through his email, trying to decide which one to deal with first. He could swear for each email he cleared, two more appeared in it’s place. Email wasn’t so much a productivity tool as a test of stamina. He sighed, picked one at random and clicked into it.

There was a tap on his door and his assistant, Sarah, poked her head in. 

“Catherine O’Donnell from Order Administration’s here, Mike. She asked if you have a few minutes to see her.”

Mike couldn’t think of what she might want unless it was to tell him that a big order was screwed up. Which would be just delightful and a great way to start the week. 

He sighed. “Sure, tell her to come on in.”

Sarah winked and withdrew and a moment later, Catherine entered and stood just inside the door which she closed behind her.

He guessed Catherine to be in her early to mid-twenties, petite, glasses, average looking, usually dressed plainly, quiet. He occasionally wandered over to Order Admin to check on an order status and Catherine was always polite and competent. Whatever was up with her he would find out shortly.

Mike stood. “Hello there, Catherine.”

“Hi Mr. Cummings. I’m very sorry to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me, and please, call me Mike.”

Catherine remained where she was.

“Come and take a seat Catherine,” he said, indicating one of the chairs opposite his desk.

With diffidence she came over and sat, then Mike did the same.

He looked at her with an expression of polite interest, knowing whatever it was, she’d get to it in her own time. 

She opened her mouth to speak, then burst into tears.

Oh boy, Mike thought. This can’t be good. He felt terrible seeing her cry. Her size and diminutive posture made her seem even younger than she was. She raised the collar of her cardigan, lifted her glasses off her nose and dabbed her eyes, a gesture so sad and vulnerable that it nearly broke his heart. He handed her a tissue from the box on his credenza and let her distress run its course.

After a minute, she began to speak, haltingly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cummings.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Catherine. Something’s upset you. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Sniffling she said, “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

Mike’s mind darted around the various people who might have caused Catherine’s upset. Then a picture began to form in his mind. Johnny. 

John Franklin was his top sales rep. He was big, with a booming voice and ego to match. He was a veteran and his customers loved him because he was professional, on top of things, responded promptly to issues and could be very charming – with them. But he was a type: sadly, too often the best sales people got to the point where they considered themselves indispensable and therefore untouchable; that they could do whatever they wanted including riding roughshod on their colleagues.

Mike had never seen it, but he’d heard that Johnny often bullied and intimidated support staff – customer service, shipping and order administration – claiming that he was looking out for his customers – but also for himself – he had a quota to meet - which he consistently exceeded, and he had the commission statements to prove it. 

And it was true, his numbers were off the chart.

Mike had intended to coach Johnny on this behaviour and seeing Catherine in tears in front of him, this shot to the top of his list.

“It’s okay, Catherine. Please, tell me what happened.”

“Well, it’s John. John Franklin.” 

Sometimes it was no fun at all being right.

“What did he do, Catherine?”

She hesitated, and sniffled. 

“Well, he’s quite…forceful, and direct with the ladies in order admin – I know he’s trying to do the best for his customers – and normally I just do my best to do what he needs. But, this morning…” 

The tears began to flow again.

Mike waited, offering her a sympathetic expression. 

She swallowed. “This morning, he demanded that I move one of his orders up in the queue, and we had just gotten the supply we needed to fill a big backorder for Ontario Consolidated Transport – not his customer - that they’d been waiting for and threatening to cancel because of how long it was taking, and I said their order had to ship first, and he started yelling at me. And he called me a—a ‘stupid bitch’.”

She began crying again, and again lifted her glasses off her nose to wipe her eyes with the now sodden tissue Mike had given her. 

Mike’s teeth ground together as he heard in his mind what he was going to say to John Franklin. He reached for another tissue and handed it to Catherine.

When her crying began to subside, she said, “I’m sorry, but I felt I needed to tell someone.”

“Catherine, you have nothing to be sorry about”—but Johnny was going to have plenty to be sorry about shortly— “and you were right to tell me about this. What he said to you—and his behaviour in general -- is inexcusable. You can be sure that I’m going to deal with this.”

“Thank you, sir. I don’t want to make trouble for anyone.”

Catherine was a far, far better victim than John Franklin deserved. 

Mike was about to end the meeting with comforting words and assurances, but then had an afterthought.

“Catherine.”

“Yes sir?”

“I’m going to speak to John as soon as I can, but in the meantime, if he says anything like that to you again, or treats you with disrespect of any kind, I want you to do something.”

She sat up straight, giving him her full attention.

“Yes sir. What should I do?”

Mike smiled. “I want you to say, ‘fuck off John’.” 

Catherine sat back with her mouth open.

“Oh, I couldn’t say that, sir.”

“Of course, you can. C’mon, say it. ‘Fuck off, John’.”

Catherine giggled. “I’ve never said that to anyone.”

“And I wouldn’t recommend that you go around saying it to everybody, but some people just really need to hear it. And Johnny’s one of them. Go ahead, Catherine, say it. ‘Fuck off, John.”

The tears were dry, and Catherine was blushing and smiling. She opened her mouth, then closed it. 

Mike smiled at her and mouthed the words.

She cleared her throat and said softly, “Fuck off, John.”

“Alright Catherine!”

Catherine giggled madly and covered her face with her hands. 

“See? How hard was that?” 

Catherine lowered her hands; she was flushed and smiling.

“Okay, one more time. Imagine John’s right here – and he’s being an asshole. What are you going to say?”

“Fuck off, John,” she said, a little louder and more firmly this time.

“Louder,” Mike said leaning forward, encouraging her.

“Fuck off, John!”

“C’mon, louder, shout it out!”

“Fuck off, John!!!”

“Woohoo! Go Catherine!” 

Mike stood and raised his fists in the air triumphantly. 

Catherine also stood, fidgeting a little as she got used to the feel of the new, tougher skin she found herself in.

“Okay? Feeling a little better?”

“Yes sir. Thank you, Mr. Cummings.”

“Alright, Catherine. We’re going to fix this. Go get ’em!”

With a huge smile on her face, and the light from the ceiling fixture glinting off her glasses, Catherine stood and headed for the door.

Mike came around the desk and walked with her to the door, then opened it for her. She smiled at him and he winked at her and she headed back to the trenches of Order Administration.

As he leaned in the doorway, Sarah watched Catherine leave then looked over at him, eyebrow arched. 

“That sounded like quite a meeting. Get anything accomplished in there?”

Mike smiled. “I think I did.” 

As he headed back to his desk he reconsidered the timing of his summons to John Franklin. He had intended to have Sarah track John down and get him to his office immediately. But as he sat, a slow, devious smile spread across his face. He decided to hold off dealing with John for a while. John was like a dog on a bone. Until he got what he wanted, he would be barking at poor Catherine. But, maybe Catherine would bark back at poor John…

The door to his office burst open and Mike looked up to see John Franklin barging in with Sarah right behind him. Sarah looked at Mike and shrugged helplessly.

Mike nodded that it was okay, and Sarah withdrew, rolling her eyes and closing the door behind her. 

John marched over to Mike’s desk, pulled out a chair and plunked down heavily.

“I…am…livid,” John said, eyes blazing.

“John, you look livid.”

“I am absolutely livid.”

“What’s brought about this lividity, John?”

John shook his head histrionically, building up to it. “Do you know what that little bitch, Catherine O’Donnell, in Order Admin, said to me?”

“Is this a rhetorical question?”

“She told me to ‘fuck off’.” 

“Oh my.”

John sat back in his chair with his hands spread wide, a gesture that invited Mike to share his outrage. But Mike sat as he was, listening politely.

John leaned forward, evidently not having made himself clear. “She told me to ‘fuck off’.” 

“I believe you just said that.”

“I—this is unacceptable, completely unacceptable. She can’t speak to me that way. I’m a professional. This is a professional business.”

“What would you like me to do, John?”

“Fire her, of course. I want you to go to her manager and have her fired. Today. Immediately.”

Mike nodded, to indicate that he was giving this matter his full consideration. 

“Okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want me to have Catherine O’Donnell fired. Do you mean the Catherine O’Donnell who shows up on time every day, who handles a heavy, complex workload, who does her best to make sure our customers are satisfied, who doesn’t make much money, who never complains and who—until today—puts up with your crap? That Catherine O’Donnell?”

John slunk back in his chair, gathering himself in, with the dawning realization that this wasn’t going the way he expected. At all.

Mike stood. “Just so I’m clear, you mean the Catherine O’Donnell that you called a “stupid bitch”, who sat right where you’re sitting, this morning, in tears, apologizing and telling me she didn’t want to get you in trouble? That Catherine O’Donnell.”

John’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Who do you suppose encouraged her to tell you to ‘fuck off’ John?”

John, in shock, said nothing.

“If you guessed me, you’re absolutely right. So, while I’m at it, I guess I better have myself fired. I’m indirectly responsible for causing this indignity to you, John, and I want you to know that I feel just terrible.” 

Mike leaned forward, his fists on the desk, towering over and glaring at John. 

“If you ever speak that way to Catherine—or anyone else—again, if you ever treat anyone in this building with disrespect, being told to ‘fuck off’ will be the least of your fucking worries. I’ll have you out on your ass so fast you’ll leave skid marks on the sidewalk.” 

Again, John’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. 

“The next thing—the very next thing—you’re going to say to Catherine O’Donnell is, ‘I’m sorry’, followed by, ‘I’ve been a complete jerk, please forgive me’. And then, every time you speak to Catherine, you’re going to end with, ‘thank you Catherine’.” 

Mike picked up a pad and tossed it across the desk where it landed in front of John.

“Are you getting all this? Do you need to take notes?”

John began to adjust to this totally unexpected response from Mike, and he rallied. He sat forward, jaw set.

“I could walk out the front door and go to any one of our competitors—any one of them—and be welcomed with open arms, and I would never—never—be spoken to this way.”

“You mean, the competitors that you agreed you wouldn’t use any knowledge of Pyrotechnique with for 24 months after leaving Pyrotech, when you signed your employment agreement. Those competitors? The ones that if you tried to steal our customers, we’d sue your sorry ass? Those competitors?”

John sat, staring and fuming at Mike.

Mike lifted his fists from the desk, and in a quieter voice, he said, “John, how does it feel to have someone take a giant shit on you?”

From John’s expression, Mike thought he saw a tiny trickle of empathy seeping through the rock face of his self-absorption. It was a long shot, but maybe having just experienced himself what he routinely put Catherine and other support staff through, he might reconsider how he dealt with them. But, if he didn’t, he would have to go.

Mike stood back and relaxed his posture. 

“John, was there anything else?” 

John shook his head.

“Okay then, carry on.”

John stood, a little unsteadily and took about twice as long to reach the door as he’d taken the other way, a few minutes earlier. He opened the door and passed through, without looking back. 

As John left his office, Mike sat back down, resting his elbows on his knees. That had not been fun. Had he gotten through to John? He had no way of knowing. John was enough of a prima donna, that he might resign in a huff, and, yeah, he probably could go to a competitor. And, even though his employment contract prohibited him from directly competing against Pyrotech for two years, it was notoriously difficult to make that stand up in court. People had to make a living and the truth was, if he wanted to, John could leave and try to take his customers with him. There was no question, if he left, his loss would be felt in sales revenue. 

Mike sat up and shook it off. If Johnny left, then good riddance. He’d assign all his accounts to Denise Mitchell. She’d probably do an even better job—and no one would ever feel the need to tell Denise to ‘fuck off’. 

He turned to his email, which, compared to what just happened, didn’t seem so much of an ordeal.