A Handshake

Kevin could hear the steady ticking this Thursday evening even though there wasn’t a single clock in his office that could be seen. The minutes were passing and they’d soon be gone just like he would be.

He’d called Jenny an hour ago telling her he was going to stay late, not to wait for him for dinner. He wanted to make sure she was set and asked if she needed anything. She was fine. Always fine. Uncomfortable but fine.

The office was empty when the last person left around five. There was still work that needed to be done, but not enough to really keep them here after hours. He was trying to douse the flames on this burning building. Maybe he could stop it, but it was already wreaking havoc, destroying everything in its path.

Is it really that bad, Kev?

He knew the unfortunate truth to that question. After looking at his bank accounts online, then going over the list of contacts that had been scratched out on his spiral-bound notebook where he kept important details, Kevin knew it really was that bad.

It was Friday and he’d gotten nowhere. There was a list of a dozen projects and clients that were all maybes. Maybe we’ll send you something. Maybe we’ll do something in the new year. Maybe we’ll throw you a bone. But none of those maybes could make up for the no he heard from Silverschone.

He was tired of people hiding behind digital walls. Nobody shook hands anymore, or looked you in the eye. That was why he’d gone personally to see Dan at Silverschone, to be there face-to-face, to try to make them realize that Precision was more than just another business. There were people involved. Not just names and profiles and witty caricatures on Twitter. Everybody was LinkedIn but nobody really, truly connected.

He was currently linked in to the Web trying to search for something, anything, to jump-start his last-ditch efforts. Searching around for businesses that he had never worked for in the Greenville area that might be an ideal fit for his company. Looking at other agencies to get ideas. Yet too often, he found himself running in circles like a dog chasing after a bone he could never grab from his master.

He might end up joining the large percentage of unemployed doing the same exact thing he was doing. He wouldn’t be officially there next week or next month—Precision still had some projects that would trickle in some money. But the staff and this building and all this wonderfully glorious potential—there was no maybe for that. It was gone and Kevin knew it.

Out of the thousand people who were “friends” on Facebook, Kevin was looking at a former colleague at Autumn House Publishers. It had been a while since they’d spoken, and Kevin was thinking about sending him a message.

Hi, friend, how are you? Long time no talk. How’s life? And by the way, do you have any jobs you can spare?