by Harry Buschman
He tilted back in his chair a little and looked down the hallway. There they were, he could see them at the far end of the corridor - the office manager and two sales engineers. He was sure they were talking about him. It was Thursday afternoon and tomorrow they would post another layoff.
“Well, you survived the other layoffs. All twelve of them - maybe you’ll be lucky again. Think positive,” he told himself.
“But don’t count on it, you know how tough things are. Smart thing to do is put in a full day, make sure your in-basket’s empty when you leave and make sure you don’t walk around with a hang dog expression like all the other guys...the sad faces get laid off first.”
He wished he could read their lips.
The three men walked down the corridor, and paused behind him. The silence was deafening. He worked as steadily and efficiently as he knew how. Finally they moved on – only then did he realize his hands were trembling and he had a terrible urge to empty his bladder. But to do that he’d have to pass them in the corridor. God almighty ... he couldn’t do that ... they’d remember that tomorrow.