The Elephant in the Room

I promised myself I would change, but it's happening again—at my third job this year at a New York based charity, my coworkers have started calling me ‘controlling’. At first, I heard it just out of earshot; then yesterday, Ashley told me straight to my face. All of I have ever done is try to help people and offer them suggestions to improve themselves.

And about the job, even though the weekly salary is low, I enjoy working for charities, at least that's the story I tell myself. Maybe I'm just not good at anything else. 

I see Sharon from Linden wearing the same green blouse that reaches up to her neckline. With her short neck, it's not the best look. It hurts my eyes to see her present herself like that when she could do so much better.

Even if Sharon doesn't react well, I think I need to let her know she should change her outfit.

“Sharon, you have a date tonight?”

“Why are you asking, aren’t you married?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

“Happily,” I reply, “I don’t want to give too much advice, but I think you would look much better in a V-Neck blouse.”

“And why’s that, Jake?”

“Just something I saw on TV yesterday.” I’m not an idiot, I know not to bring up people’s flaws.

Sharon glares at me with eyes filled with anger. 

I feel hurt. It's public knowledge that Sharon is looking for a boyfriend. She's never going to find the right guy dressing like that. She fills in the whole office every Monday about her weekend Tinder dates. Everyone except me.

Sharon skulks off, shaking her head.

Ashley, who sits in the marketing area with us, says, “I know what you’re up to, Jake.”

“And what’s that?” I ask her. 

From behind a defensive line of perfect grooming, manicured nails and a nasally NPR accent, Ashley has taken up sniping at me lately.

She stares at me silently with a knowing look.

As for me, I know how to dress properly, for my large frame. Get my hair cut every Thursday, teeth cleaned, and keep my nails trimmed. It makes me feel optimistic. It's not just me. BuzzFeed had an article that said taking care of oneself is the first step to keeping a positive outlook. 

I like to see the people around me take care of themselves.

I’m filled with a warm glow when I see Ethan come in with his teeth scaled and whitened, just like I told him to. 

To cool the tension in the office, I get back to cold calling charity donors.

“Hello. I am calling from the New Jersey Fireman Charity. If you have 30 seconds, I will tell you about the hardworking men and women serving our state.” 

I'm ready to keep talking if he doesn't say anything, 

On the line I hear, “Ok.” 

Great.

I remind him of the sacrifice of firefighter Stephen Siller. Steve was on his way to play golf when he heard the twin towers had been struck on 9/11. He grabbed his gear and ran to the towers.

“I think those guys knew there was a possibility they weren't coming home. They still went into those buildings. Can you imagine that?” I say, “Now, if you let me know your email address, I will send you a link for PayPal, Visa, or MasterCard.” 

For unknown reasons, most people prefer to make charity donations with PayPal.

When I hang up, Alice, the charity’s receptionist, is tapping my shoulder.

“The HR department wants to see you, now.”

Everything is so formal here even though there's only 20 of us.

I see Vince looking sullen through the door of his office.

“Sit down and close the door,” Vince says when he sees me. He is the only one in the office, outside of Ashley, who doesn’t back off because of my size and be extra polite to me. Probably because he’s even larger than I am.

“ Vince, how are things today?” I ask.

He ignores my attempt at small talk and pauses before saying, “Your coworker Sharon came in here, said you body-shamed her.”

“Sharon turned me in?”

“Bro. I don’t even know what body-shamed means, But you need to cut that shit out, Jim. You comment on another woman’s looks and I’ll bang your head against that wall.”

I look at his large, thick hands connected to wrestler sized shoulders.

“Message received,” I say reluctantly.

“Good, now we have an understanding.” His hostile frown softens into a stone faced glare.

I notice how dimly lit the office is. Maybe that’s affecting his mood. 

“You should open the blinds. You’d get some good morning sun from 35th street.” I point toward the opening rod.

“What are you talking about…you didn’t hear what I just told you?” 

“Just a suggestion.”

Vince stands up, picks up the phone receiver on his desk, and waves it at me. “You work here to talk into the phone. Into the fucking phone.”

His bulk fills the room, and he’s inching closer to me. 

“Got it,” I say and back away.

**

“I’m calling from the New Jersey Fireman Charity. If you have 30 seconds, I will tell you about the —”   

“How do I know this isn't a scam?”

I hear a click and the line goes dead. Having had six successful closes this morning, it doesn’t phase me. I’m ahead of the sales team average.

Turning behind me, I smile at Ashley. I’m still trying to break the ice with her.

“Anything new today, Ash?” 

“The new sales targets from Henry.”

“Any good gossip?”

“Nothing that I’ve heard of.”

She waves her hand as if dispersing a cloud of fruit flies.

Henry, the Executive Director, shows up late this morning as usual. Oddly, the boss is the only one here now who will give me the time of day. Maybe because he’s loud, like me. Who knows? Anyway, he gets where I’m coming from.

“Hey my man, our new top producer,” he says and gives me a fist bump:

“Brioni, nice,” I say, pointing out his suit choice today.

“Thank you.” He poses, massaging his lapel. “Lunch Liberty Grilll?”

“Of course.” 

He always pays for everyone who joins.

That afternoon, after a long lunch, Henry calls an all hands meeting in the conference room.

“Someone…” He scans the room. “Has been posting shit about this company on Glassdoor. Most of you have probably seen it already. I want each one of you to point at who you think it is.” 

Everyone points at each other, almost randomly. Ethan, with his white teeth, is pointing at me.

But I’m not a snitch.

Henry looks at me, “What about you, Jake. You don’t have a suspect?”

“I’m not a snitch.”

“Then I’ll talk to you privately,” he says, looking vaguely disappointed.

In the meeting with Henry, I hem and haw, I’m in enough shit here with my coworkers, I don’t want to face the consequences if I point out the wrong person.

The next morning, Ethan doesn’t arrive at the office. Vince walks past and points at Ethan’s empty desk, “I’ve taken care of that traitor.”

The way he says that worries me. Ethan seems like a good kid. I give him a call, but he doesn’t answer his phone. I’ve been trained to know what these types of organizations are capable of.

I call my wife, “Honey, I think I’ll be late for dinner tonight. I’ll be on the 9pm train.”

That's our code word.

A half hour later, a half dozen IRS agents pour in. Guns show on their waist holsters. “IRS investigation for tax fraud. Put the telephones down.”

The agents arrest the top management, Henry and Vince, and let everyone else including me go, after checking our IDs.

On the way out, Agent Johnson mumbles to me, “You are like a bull in a china shop, Jake. No one ever suspects you could be the one undercover.”

Ashley turns around and studies us. I shrug my shoulders.

I tell Agent Johnson, “We are not supposed to break cover until we are 500 feet away.”

“This isn't the Italian mob, Jake,” he says chuckling, “We sure missed having you around the office for three months.”

I noticed something before that I should tell him before we get busy filling out reports. “The second button on your jacket is about to fall off.” It's hanging on by a few threads.

He is right about one thing, this isn’t the mob. The missing Ethan calls me and says he went on a bender after being fired by Vince via text message. Apparently, Vince apologized for not doing it in person, because the doctor told him he needs to keep his blood pressure down.

The prosecutor says we have enough incriminating evidence from my recordings of Henry at the boozy lunches to put him away for at least 3 years. Even though, on paper, the charity was legit, all the money raised was spent on Henry’s lifestyle. Not a penny was sent to a firefighter.

A surprise comes, when in Henry’s plea deal, the defense argue that if a government agent knowingly committed the same crime as the defendant—defrauding citizens of New Jersey—the agent would also need to be indicted. 

Not my idea of a good time, but my supervisor talks me into agreeing to serve a 3-month sentence so our case doesn’t fall apart. My wife is more understanding to the sacrifice and solemn duty of government service than I thought she would be.

To make it more worthwhile, the NJDOC will place me in the same cell as Henry so I can continue my background investigation into non-profit tax fraud in the North-Eastern states. I'm looking forward to spending time with Henry. There are a lot of things I’d like to teach him in order to live as a proper person. I think I can change him. It’s just a matter of time.