Happy Birthday

Thirty-six years Bob had sat in the same place, in the same building, done the same job. Maybe the tools had changed, but the job hadn’t. Bob had managed, barely it seemed sometimes, to keep up with the technology. He did his work, kept his head down.

Until that morning, when Tyler had called Bob into his office. Bob hated Tyler. A twenty-something Harvard MBA , Tyler Goodwell thought he was God’s gift to the planet. Maybe even the universe. Bob thought Tyler was a jackass. A monumentally stupid jackass.

“Bob” said Tyler, “Have a seat. Be right with you.”

Bob sat down and wondered what the hell was going on. Tyler was one of those people that never sat down. Always on the go, he managed his employees via Blackberry. A face to face meeting meant something big.

As Tyler hung up the phone, he grabbed a folder full of papers off his desk, and thrust them in Bob’s direction.

“I’m sorry Bob, we’re letting you go. Sign these papers, leave them with my secretary.”

“Oh, and before I forget, happy birthday.”

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