The finances of Massachusetts cities and towns have gotten so bad that one community can no longer afford to keep Lacey the Amur leopard in its zoo.
The Boston Globe
My Human Resources Manager Lilith says the best time to lay someone off is Friday, since with the weekend to look forward to the terminated employee may land more softly and be able to face the prospect of near-or-long term unemployment with equanimity, if not exactly delight.
It’s purely a business decision, I say to myself silently as I rehearse my speech. We can’t afford to keep you anymore, you’re going to have to find a new territory to prowl around. The city has firemen and policemen to pay, pensions to underfund, schools to run. You’d be better off in southeastern Russia or northern China–how you ever ended up in Attleboro, “The Jewelry Capital of the World,” is a mystery to me.
It’s considered Human Resources “best practices” to go to where the employee is located, rather than summoning him/her/it to your office. That way, if they have a meltdown, you just get up and leave, rather than having to call security to have them remove the overwrought wage slave from the premises. Another trick . . . I mean, safeguard . . . is to always use a team of two to terminate–and try to say THAT five times fast. That way you outnumber the loser, and you have a witness if there’s litigation.
Think of the children!
I stop by Lilith’s office, knock softly on her open door, and ask grimly “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replies firmly, but I detect a note of uncertainty in her voice. We’ve held on as long as we could, slimming down by mortality and the occasional chimpanzee escape. We are, after all, a public institution, about which no less a personage than Thomas Jefferson said that vacancies therein “by death are few, by resignation none.” For years we’ve been hoping that Larry the Orangutang would slip on a banana when he’s high up in a tree because he isn’t about to quit, but no, he’s hanging on, literally and figuratively.
Lilith: “Great to see you Lacey!”
“Don’t worry,” I say to Lilith. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“That’s comforting.”
“It’s my second.”
She looks at me with a wild surmise, like Cortez’s men in On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer, so I quickly re-assure her. “Just kidding,” I say. “I forgot that the only three topics you can discuss in a Boston office environment are sports, the weather, and also sports.”
We collect ourselves a few steps away from Lacey’s cage, inhale deeply to calm ourselves–not a pleasant experience with all the monkey poop around–then approach with hale-fellow-well-met smiles on our faces.
“Hey there, Lacey girl!” I say, and immediately feel a kick from Lilith to my shin. “Sorry, “Ms. Lacey.”
“Oot-greet!” she replies, peeling back her upper lip to show she took no offense.
“How’ve you been?” Lilith asks.
“GRAWK–gabba gabba.”
“I know, it’s been a tough winter.”
“How are the kids?” I ask, and once again feel a whack from Lilith’s sensible shoes. (No “come-fuck-me-pumps” for nice HR ladies.)
“Don’t mention children,” she says sotto voce through clenched teeth.
“Right,” I reply, understanding that the last thing to remind a mother of when you’re about to let her go is the number of mouths she has to feed.
‘Unga lunga unga,” Lacey says with a beaming smile on her face, completely unfazed. I bet she’s a great with her kids.
“I know just how you feel,” Lilith says. “Having to be a working mom makes you treasure every second you can spend with your little ones.”
Lacey gurgles in agreement and then I clear my throat to begin the difficult task for which I’m paid the somewhat big bucks of a zoo director in the terribly-expensive Boston area.
“Well, Lace, Lilith and I are here on business, and unfortunately it isn’t the most pleasant of tasks.”
“Glargala?”
“As you may know from reading The Boston Globe . . .”
“Narga larga Herald.”
“Oh, so maybe you haven’t heard. Due to over-spending at the state level and the Prop 2 and a half cap on real estate taxes, municipalities are having to cut ‘cherished public institutions, including libraries to skating rinks.'”
“Numma gumma skate.”
“Okay, so maybe your kids aren’t into hockey. But there’s libraries . . .”
“Gnargle bargle third-grade level.”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything, I’m sure your kids are doing just fine. What I’m trying to tell you is, we’re having a . . . what’s the term Lilith?”
“A reduction in force.”
“Whadda thatta mean.”
“Some animals are going to be laid off,” I say and gulp over a lump in my throat. “And that includes you.”
I’m expecting an outburst of some sort; a howl, a screech, “displacement behavior.” Instead, Lacey is . . . calm. Eerily so, in fact.
“We’ll pay for health and dental benefits for you and your family for 6 months or until you find another job,” Lilith says as she starts to read down a list of benefits, but Lacey cuts her off.
“Wurba burba severance?”
Lilith and I look at each other. We try to avoid severance pay, but Lacey’s case is one that tugs at the heartstrings. She’s been with us for ten years, and never missed a day of work. She’s always front and center every morning at 10 when the zoo opens, ready to snarl at a sixth-grade class on a field trip.
“Well, I guess we could give you . . . one week of pay for every year of service, so how does ten weeks sound?”
“GREEARGUH!”
“Okay, twenty weeks,” I say. “And we’ll get you an outplacement service to help with your resume.”