"Barney, what in the hell is wrong with you?"
Barney shuffled his feet against the mat on the bottom of the car. "Sylvia, I got laid off today."
They drove in silence for a few moments, the street signs flashing past, brown streaks in the windows. The building were empty, the dark windows standing out against the grey stone that characterized Driftsville's architecture. A light rain pattered against the windshield and Sylvia absently reached down and turned on the wipers.
"Why?"
"I don't know Sylvia! They just said they didn't need me anymore and gave me my papers. You think they explained in depth? They didn't explain in depth." He half-heartedly punched his door. "Bastards just fired me. Just dropped me like that. I've been making furniture for them for, what, ten years?"
"Yeah, ten years."
"For ten god damn years and they just drop me."
A few more miles passed silently, Barney fuming and staring out his window while Sylvia drove.
"Barney," said Sylvia, "Have you been drinking?"
"Of course I've been drinking. You know I've been drinking. How would you not know I've been drinking? What would you do? What would you do if they laid your sorry ass off without so much as an apology? I went and bought a twelve pack right after I got out of work."
"Where are they now?"
Barney laughed. "Where do you think? They're in my belly where they belong."
"Oh Barney…"
Sylvia turned around a corner onto a road slipping between two large warehouses. The warehouses past, trees began to whir past the vehicle as the rain made the roads slick and untrustworthy. She slowed down somewhat. Barney remained staring out the window.
After awhile she reached over and put her hand over his. He turned his hand over and gave her a hard squeeze, still not looking at her. She squeezed back and they rode the rest of the way home holding each other tight.
"Barney Lynch?"
"Yes sir?"
"Mister Reynolds wants to see you up in his office."
Barney took a shaped leg and put it to a table. He held a drill in the other hand and put it against an inked mark on the wood. "Can I finish this table first?"
"Yes, Mister Lynch, that's fine."
Barney pushed the drill into the wood and felt the gratifying bite of the grain around the drill bit. He squeezed the trigger lightly, and the bit turned slowly, marking a circle of white flesh where it passed. Seeing that he was properly oriented, Barney pushed harder and pulled the trigger all the way back, the outline filling in as the bit chewed further into the wood. He let go for a moment and pulled the drill back, cleaning out the hole with the unsharpened end of his pencil. He bit further into the wood again, another hole opening up under his pressure. He pulled the drill out and put it down, taking the leg off the table and removing his ear and eye protectors, laying them on the work counter. He walked towards the back of the large work room and went through a small wooden door with a glass window. This lead to a stairwell, lined with old photographs; mostly of chairs and tables, occasionally with a celebrity or politician posing with them. A few of the pictures were black and white photographs of grim looking men in dark suits. A few were newer, the men happier but the suits still dark. He reached the top of the stair and there was a hallway with a series of more small doors with glass windows. He wants to the one that said "Peter Reynolds" and knocked softly.
"Come in!"
He opened the door and saw Mister Reynolds, a slight man but pleasant, considered handsome by women of a certain age and passable by his peers.
Barney said, "You wanted to see me, Mister Reynolds?"
"Barney! Barney, please sit down."
Barney sat in the chair across the desk from Reynolds. "Why did you want to see me?"
"You might have heard that the Driftsville Furniture Manufacturing company isn't doing so well."
"Yeah. Yeah, I heard that."
"Well it's true. We're not doing so hot. And do you know why, Barney?"
"No, I don't."
"Cheap Asian knockoffs!" Reynolds stood and went to his window, looking out over the parking lot. "Cheap Asian knockoffs. They're clearly breaking our patent, clearly, but the little bastards keep churning their cardboard chairs out like clockwork. They've got three time the production potential per factory, and we've only got one factory. Sure, any kind of discerning consumer knows damn well, damn well that a Driftsville Chair should damn well be made in God damn Driftsville but your average customer? No idea." He turned from the window and planted his hands firmly on the desk, looking Barney straight in the eye, while saying "Damn it, Barney, do you understand? These little yellow bastards are making ten dollar cardboard chairs that look enough like ours to steal our business. How are we supposed to compete with that! How are we supposed to compete with that? It doesn't make any God damn sense they can make them so cheap but they do. Oh they do. And we can't stop 'em because the only agent we have to work through is their government and their government are as worm-ridden as their God damned furniture!"
"Sir? Yes, sir."
"That why I have to lay you off."
Barney's mouth fell open.
"I know," Reynolds said, "I know it's hard and the economy's not doing so hot so it's tough for you to get another job and damn it, Barney, I like you. You're a hard worker and you're not late and you make some damn fine furniture when you set your mind to it but I've looked carefully over the records and… well, you're the least crucial member of the company right now and we can't afford to keep you on."
"Sir—"
"Don't worry though! We're prepared to offer you a full severance package. We'll take care of you until you can find some other work. We'll help you out as much as you can, we just can't have you working for us anymore."
"You can take that severance package and shove it up your ass, Pete."
"What?"
"Right up your ass. I've been working here my whole life and you're kicking me out because some Chinese—"
"
"Some God damned Chinese are making cheaper table than I can? We went to school together, Peter. I pantsed you during lunch that day, remember that? And now you're telling me you're going to take care of me? Fuck you, Pete. Take the severance package and shove it up your soft, spoiled, lily-white cornhole you uppity prick."
Barney stood up quickly, knocking the chair out from underneath him, and stalked out the room, slamming the door behind him. In the back of his mind he wanted the glass to break – he desperately wanted that glass to break – but it didn't. He walked down to the floor, picked up his things, and went out the front door, straight to the supermarket to pick up a twelve-pack of beer and then went to the park and drank them all one by one, throwing the empty cans into the lake as he finished.
"And that's what happened," Barney said.
Sylvia put her fork down, chewed her food thoroughly, swallowed it, and patted her mouth with her napkin. "You…" She swallowed again. "You gave up your severance?"
"I know, Sylvia, I know. It was stupid. It was a bad idea. I shouldn't have yelled at him like that but I was so angry! What a ridiculous reason to fire me. I'm sorry."
"What are you going to do?"
"I guess I have to get another job."
"Doing what?"
"I don't know. I don't know. I mean all I know how to do is make tables. I could keep making tables, but I don't have the equipment for it. I mean that kind of workshop is expensive – awfully expensive!"
"But you're good at it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am. I'm damn good at making table. I'm probably one of the best table makers for a damn long ways."
"If you had the tools could you make tables and sell them?"
"I'm pretty sure I could. I think I could. I could ask some of the guys I know at the plant to get me some numbers for people to sell to, right? Showrooms and things like that. Make some nice tables, nicer than they let me make at that hellhole. Yeah. But how can I get the tools for that?"
"We'll get a loan."
Barney laughed. "We can't get a loan. We ain't got any collateral and my credit rating is shot, I don't know about yours."
"We'll borrow from a friend. Damn it, Barney, we have to do something. We can't just let you fail like this. I don't want to see you fail."
"I don't want to borrow money from one of my friends."
"I know you don't. I know. We won't do that, I was being rash, but we can borrow money from someone, right? Sue works at the bank, maybe she can help us. We'll get a loan and get you what you need. We'll get you the money you need."
"Sylvia—"
"I'll call her first thing tomorrow. Now, let's go to bed. You've had a long day and we'll work on it tomorrow."
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