Sabbatical

Leslie Bailey, Brian's wife of twenty-eight years, made him promise that he would get away from home for a week or two of complete rest before trying to come to terms with his retirement. They went to a little hotel in the Napa Valley.

For two and a half days she succeeded in keeping him from talking about his future, but he eventually wore her down. It happened while they were having dessert at their favorite Italian restaurant.

Brian was blunt. “I'm sorry, Leslie, but I can't wait anymore.”

Leslie was confused. “For what?”

“To talk about work. What I'm going to do next.”

Leslie laughed. “Oh. For a second I thought you were going to get frisky with me right here.”

Brian responded with a straight face. “Well, that would be even better. You want to go out to the car?”

She laughed again. “Maybe later. For now, let's talk about work.”

Brian paused. “I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a trip without—”

She interrupted him. “That's okay. I know you've been struggling since we came up here, and you've done your best. Spill it.”

For the next two hours—until busboys politely kicked them out of the empty restaurant—the couple talked about Brian's state of mind, and his options. He was already restless. He wondered if his career had been a waste of time. Maybe he should dive right back into another company.

After a while it became clear that he and Leslie weren't on the same page. At times the discussion turned emotional, with Leslie doing most of the emoting.

“Listen, I haven't complained much over the past fifteen years. There have been plenty of late nights, and plenty of business trips and conference calls taken from home. And don't get me wrong. You've been a great father. But you did miss your fair share of recitals and ball games.”

The comment seemed to provoke Brian, who responded in a calm but clearly frustrated way. “I don't think that's fair. I busted my butt to get to more of those events than most of the other dads. I don't think I should be sitting here feeling guilty for—”

Brian stopped when he saw that his wife was on the verge of crying.

“What's wrong?”

She took a moment to compose herself. “You're right. You shouldn't feel bad about that. You usually found a way to be there for the kids.”

Brian felt a momentary sense of relief. Until she finished.

“It's really me that you weren't there for.” And then the tears started flowing.

Now Brian felt horrible. Both because he knew she was right, and because she had never really complained about it until now. How long has she been feeling this way? he wondered.

It was at that moment that he vowed to become a better husband, to be more present for his wife. After twenty-eight years of work, Leslie certainly deserved it.

Besides, Brian had no real excuses now. With the sale of the company and the vesting of his stock, the Baileys suddenly had more money than they ever felt they needed. With no more tuition or braces to pay for, they could live a fairly comfortable lifestyle without Brian's ever having to work again.

And Leslie had no real need to work. After twenty years of being a turbo volunteer at school and church, and working full time as a teachers' aide for the past seven, she was more than ready for a change. As long as it involved her husband.

With their daughter in her last year of college and their boys gainfully employed in San Diego and Seattle, the Baileys were empty-nesters with no real restrictions or limitations.

“Okay,” Brian said, grabbing her hand across the table, “for the next year or so, we can pretty much do whatever we want. The challenge is just to figure it out.”

Brainstorm

For the next few days, Brian and Leslie went on long drives through the vineyards while they tossed around ideas for retirement.

Trying not to rule anything out immediately, the couple eventually discarded the notion of buying a boat or an RV or a biplane. As much as they had always enjoyed the outdoors, Leslie and Brian knew that they weren't really adventurers, the kind of people to live the life of nomads.

Leslie finally suggested that they find a nice little mountain home in the Lake Tahoe area where they could spend their winters skiing, and the rest of the year boating and golfing, activities they had enjoyed before having kids. She didn't have to do a lot of talking to convince Brian. He had been yearning to start skiing again for the past five years, and the thought of fishing and golfing during the off-season was certainly an attractive proposition.

“Let's do it,” he announced with a smile on his face. “Who needs the rat race anyway?”

Soon enough Brian would come to realize that his honest answer to that question would have been me.

Immersion

For the next few weeks, the newly energized couple traveled back and forth to the mountains looking at houses, finally settling on a modest but modern log home at the southern end of Lake Tahoe, a few miles into Nevada. Two weeks later, over a month after “the Napa talk,” as they came to refer to it, they moved in and began furnishing and decorating the new property.

Brian was more excited than he had expected to be, and enjoyed telling his kids and friends about the new cabin, with its view of the Heavenly Ski Resort slopes and the southern end of the lake. He even had his sales pitch down.

“Depending on what time of year you come up to visit, we can be skiing on the slopes, teeing off at a championship golf course, or dropping a line into Lake Tahoe within twelve minutes of walking out the door.”

When an early snowstorm hit the area in November, Brian and Leslie excitedly began their first full season of skiing. It would be short and painful.

Injured Reserve

Brian was in better shape than the average fifty-three-year-old, which was not surprising given that he had run a fitness-related company for more than fifteen years. But no amount of time on an exercise bike or treadmill is adequate preparation for a sudden and drastic increase in skiing.

After three consecutive days on the slopes, Brian was ripe for a big fall. Though he was quickly regaining his form and confidence as a skier, he was also more fatigued and sore than he had been in years.

As he headed down on his last run of his fourth day, he was surprised to find the mountain virtually empty of fellow skiers. So Brian decided to have some fun. Venturing off the slushy grooves of the main run down to the lodge, he opted instead to take the deceptively icy slalom run used for local ski races.

By the time he was halfway down the hill, Brian's legs had started to burn and he found himself fighting to stay upright as he made his turns around the flags. Looking back on the situation, he realized that he should have simply veered off course and headed leisurely down the mountain. But being aware that the lodge was directly below and that at least a few people must have been drinking hot chocolate and observing his own private Olympic moment, Brian decided to go for broke.

As he approached the second to last flag, his right ski slid out from under him, setting off a chain reaction of imbalance followed by attempted recovery followed by a particularly unflattering spill. Before he knew what was happening, Brian was sliding headfirst down the mountain, with one ski, no poles, and a pair of goggles twisted vertically on his face.

More important, his knee was on fire.

Cabin Fever

By the time the doctors were done with him, Brian left the community hospital on crutches, initially relieved by their assurances that he was lucky not to have done major damage that would require surgery. But when they told him that he'd be laid up for several weeks and that his ski season was over, he started to worry.

It wasn't just that Brian would miss skiing—though he certainly would—or that he would have nothing to do. The physical rest actually sounded pretty good to him, and he owned a stack of books that he had been meaning to read for years. It was the idle time he dreaded most, because he knew that it would tempt him to start thinking about work again.

For the first two weeks, Brian did his best to keep himself entertained and content.

Leslie's presence was his saving grace. The couple could spend more time talking, watching movies, and just being together than they had since their first son was born.

But eventually, Brian found himself fighting off a mild case of depression. He initially attributed it to the lack of physical activity. Though he was no triathlete, Brian had grown accustomed to some kind of regular exercise, and for the first time in his life he was unable to work out at all for an extended period of time.

And then there was the weather. One of the heaviest early snow seasons in the last fifty years had kept the immobile former executive homebound. Over the course of one five-day period, he couldn't go outside for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

But Brian eventually came to the ironic conclusion that his biggest problem was his need for a problem. He yearned for a business challenge to figure out.

Of course, he knew that Leslie would never stand for a sudden retreat to the Bay Area and corporate America, and rightly so. Brian couldn't even hint at such a move. Still, he had to find something real to do because, until he did, he would go stir crazy like a prisoner. And though his living quarters certainly didn't look like a penitentiary, as Brian liked to remind Leslie, “A jail is still a jail even if it has satellite TV and a picture window overlooking Lake Tahoe.”

Furlough

On his first day without crutches, the weather miraculously seemed to break, so Brian and Leslie took advantage and went for a long drive. As they were well into the second half of the loop around the lake, the couple decided to pick up food for dinner on the way home, and as usual, Leslie won the debate over what to order. She opted for Italian—a decision she soon regretted.

They decided on Gene and Joe's, a downscale Italian place a few blocks off the highway near their cabin. Leslie called ahead so that the food would be ready for them.

Brian and Leslie had never actually been to the restaurant, though they had ordered pizza or pasta for delivery on a few occasions during Brian's recent recuperation. It appeared to be open during late afternoons and evenings only.

The building itself was white stucco, with a Spanish-looking tile roof. Painted grapevines and Italian flags adorned most of the exterior, giving it a dated if not slightly tacky look. But the food was pretty good, and Brian and Leslie had always preferred unpretentious restaurants with big portions to overly sophisticated ones that sent you away hungry.

As they pulled their '93 Explorer into the parking lot, they noticed a drive-thru pickup window on the side of the building, something neither of them had ever seen at an Italian restaurant. They decided to give it a try.

After sitting at the window for a moment, it became apparent to Brian that no one was ready to help them. Peering into the restaurant through the window, he noticed that there was almost no one inside. Brian and Leslie agreed that it was too early for the dinner crowd, and that the place would probably be packed later in the evening when hungry skiers were driving home after a day on the slopes.

“This kind of reminds me of my first summer job during high school.” The tone of Brian's voice indicated equal parts nostalgia and lament.

“Mr. Hamburger?”

Brian corrected her. “That would be Captain Hamburger.”

“What a dive that place was.”

“Yeah, but somehow we managed to have a ball working there.”

“Didn't you get robbed once?”

“Twice. Which is why I quit and took a job on the graveyard shift at a potato chip plant. Which might sound bad, but in reality was even worse.”

Leslie chuckled at the familiar joke.

Brian went on. “That was one long, miserable summer.”

“But it turned out to be a good thing.”

Brian frowned, and his wife explained.

“It made you get that job waiting tables at Carrows, which was the best job you ever had because that's where you met me.”

Brian thought about it for a moment. “No, I'm pretty sure Captain Hamburger was better.”

As Leslie punched her husband in the arm, their trip down memory lane was interrupted by someone finally coming to the window.

Brian was surprised to see that it wasn't a kid but rather a man in his mid-forties. He had a wedding ring on his finger and a tattoo on his arm, and was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of two smiling bald men Brian decided must be Gene and Joe. Across the shirt in alternating green and red letters was “Pizza and Pasta. Here, There, Everywhere.”

What's a married, middle-aged guy doing working at a place like this? Brian couldn't help but wonder.

“Can I help you?” the man said without emotion.

“Yeah, we called in an order. For Leslie.”

Without saying a word, the man retreated into the building, and returned a few moments later with a bag and a small pizza box. “That'll be fifteen eighty.”

Taking the food in through the window, Brian handed the guy a twenty-dollar bill. “You can keep the change.”

“Thanks.” The response seemed only mildly grateful.

Four minutes later the retired couple arrived at their cabin and began removing their food from the bags, when Leslie let out a moan.

“Dang it. They forgot my salad again.”

Brian took a breath. “I'll go get it.”

“Oh, don't worry about it. It's not that big a deal.” She wasn't convincing.

“No, it's the second time they've done this. It'll take me ten minutes.”

Going In

When Brian arrived at the restaurant, he decided to get out of the car and go inside.

With the exception of one table with two older customers in the corner eating a very early dinner, the room was empty. Brian walked up to the order counter, where he waited for someone to help him. No one.

A quick survey of the area behind the counter made it clear that Gene and Joe's was a tired place as well as a lonely one. The cash register must have been twenty-five years old. The carpet was worn in the high-traffic areas and frayed around the edges. And a handwritten sign taped to the counter read: help wanted—cook, delivery driver, weakend manager. Brian smiled at the misspelling.

What might have once been a vibrant little restaurant was now merely surviving, Brian decided, and probably only because of its convenient location near the highway.

Finally, a young Hispanic employee appeared. “Can I help you?” He greeted Brian with a tone that was a little more enthusiastic than the drive-thru guy's.

“Uh, yeah. I just picked up some food in the drive-up window, and we seem to be missing one of our salads.”

After nodding his head apologetically but not saying anything to Brian, the man turned and yelled, “Carl!”

Moments later the drive-thru guy appeared. “This man didn't get one of his salads,” the Hispanic employee explained.

Without saying a word, Carl disappeared for a moment, then came back. “Was that for Sharon?”

Patiently, Brian explained. “No, it was Leslie. We were here just fifteen minutes ago.”

The clerk mumbled something barely audible that sounded like “Check be right back,” and disappeared.

At that moment, the front door opened and Brian turned to see an older, vaguely familiar-looking man come in.

When the drive-thru guy returned, he was frowning. “I don't see an order for Leslie. Are you sure you . . .”

Before he could continue, Brian interrupted playfully, but with a mild hint of impatient sarcasm. “Yes, I'm sure. You don't think I came back down here just to scam you out of a salad, do you? This is the second time this has happened.”

And then the man behind Brian interrupted the exchange. “Let me take care of this for you, sir.”

Confused, Brian turned to see who was talking to him, and before he could say anything, the man continued. “I'm the owner of this place.”

Then he turned to the employee. “Carl, go make me another large salad. And bring back a coupon for a free pizza.”

Reaching out his hand for a shake, the older man explained to Brian, “Sorry about that. We're a little undermanned right now.”

Brian estimated the guy's age to be around sixty-five, though it was hard to tell because his dark skin was so leathery and wrinkled, as though he'd spent a lot of time in the sun. And then Brian figured out why the man looked familiar. He was an older version of one of the two guys on the T-shirt.

“You must be Gene or Joe?” Brian asked politely.

The old man nodded. “I'm Joe.”

For some reason, Brian had to ask the next question. “Where's Gene?”

“Somewhere in Florida, I think. He backed out of the partnership nineteen years ago, but I decided not to change the name. So, you've had this problem before, huh?”

Brian was a little hesitant now, not wanting to get anyone in trouble or to criticize this man's business. “Yeah, maybe once. But it might have been our fault.”

“No,” Joe said, shaking his head. “It's usually ours.”

Brian felt bad for the old man. He decided to make small talk. “How long have you had this place, Joe?”

“Thirty-two years in February. It used to be fancier back in the seventies,” he seemed a little embarrassed by the state of his restaurant. “But with the buildup of the casinos and all, we had to adjust. We don't do lunches anymore. Just dinner. And we cater to a little less formal clientele now. Skiers and hikers and bikers, you know.”

Brian nodded.

At that moment Carl emerged from behind the counter.

“Here you go. Sorry about that.” This time there was a slight, barely detectable hint of concern in his voice, which Brian attributed to the presence of the boss.

“Thank you,” Brian responded, both to Carl and Joe. “I'm sure I'll see you again.”

“I hope so.” The old man smiled. “And we'll get your order right next time.”

“No problem.” Brian shook his hand again and left.

During the short drive home, Brian couldn't stop thinking about the restaurant and what it must be like to be Joe or Carl or the other indifferent-looking employees there.

What in the world gets those people out of bed in the morning?

First Sip

Later that night Brian went out for a few groceries. Now that he was free of his crutches, any errand was a welcome one for him.

As he was leaving the store, his eye caught the front page of the Wall Street Journal on the newspaper stand. After scanning the headline section, he reluctantly decided to buy a copy to take home, well aware that he was playing with fire. He knew that Leslie would not be happy to know that he was indulging what she called his “business addiction.”

Before Brian could make it to the register, he somehow found himself in the magazine aisle, adding copies of BusinessWeek, Fortune, and Fast Company to his stack of forbidden literature.

When he pulled up to his cabin, he carefully put the magazines and newspaper in the bottom of a grocery bag so that Leslie wouldn't see them. After she went to bed, Brian grabbed the stash and went to his favorite chair, eager to indulge his hunger for news about the world of business.

After less than half an hour with the Journal, Brian was ready to put it down and go to bed, disappointed that his deviant behavior hadn't yielded more of a thrill. Then he saw a small article on the third page of the Market section. The headline read, “Nike's FlexPro to Cut People, Products.”

Brian devoured the story which detailed Nike's decision to lay off more than fifty people from the company it had acquired, and eliminate almost half the products that it manufactured. At the end of the article, it was mentioned that FlexPro's competitors were “rumored to be considering similar moves.” Though the article didn't mention JMJ by name, Brian knew that his former company was certainly one of those competitors.

Knowing that he wasn't going to be able to sleep and that he had already violated the spirit of his agreement with his wife, Brian went to his computer. Casting aside his guilt, he went straight to his former company's new Web site where he learned that the sales and marketing departments were being moved away from Manteca to the parent company's headquarters outside Chicago.

Brian was furious.

He fired off an e-mail to Rick explaining that the decisions violated the spirit of the deal he had made with the medical company. He sent messages to the two members of his former executive team to tell them how upset he was that their jobs were being moved.

With adrenaline now running through his veins, Brian tore into his magazines with a vengeance, devouring anything and everything having to do with business. Though it had been just eight weeks since he retired, it felt like years.

Brian finally fell asleep in his chair at four in the morning, his magazines sprinkled next to him on the floor. When Leslie woke up a few hours later, she discovered him there, looking like an alcoholic surrounded by empty bottles.

Then the phone rang, and Brian began to stir. Before he knew what was happening, Leslie was handing him the cordless.

“It's Rick Simpson.” Leslie didn't need to say another word. The look on her face told Brian exactly how she felt.

Off the Wagon

Rick was calling in response to Brian's late night e-mail.

“Hey, buddy. How's retirement treating you?”

Brian didn't elaborate. “Fine, thanks. I guess you got my note.” It wasn't a question.

“Yeah. What are you doing up at two fifteen in the morning?”

“Rick, what the hell is going on over there? They're not supposed to be moving staff out of Manteca. That was part of the deal.”

“Well, that's not necessarily true. They said they wouldn't shut down the plant there, and that they had no plans to move people. But that's standard for an acquisition. You know that.”

“Yeah, but I told people they shouldn't be worried about their jobs.”

Rick suspected that Brian's mood was as much a function of his general struggle with the transition to retirement as it was with the events at JMJ. So he decided to be gentle.

“Listen, Brian. Anyone who is adversely affected by this is going to get a nice severance package. That was part of the deal, which you did a great job negotiating. And compared to what Nike is doing with FlexPro, this is actually pretty mild.”

Brian was momentarily speechless.

Rick kept talking. “I know how attached you were to that place, but you got a fair deal for JMJ, and now it's time to let go, my friend.”

“Maybe.” Brian took a breath and tried to convince himself that Rick was right. But he couldn't do it. “It's just that they're going to flush years of trust and loyalty down the toilet. They don't understand that that's what they paid for in the deal. I told you we should have found a buyer who understood us. We probably would have gotten more.”

Rick should have said nothing, but as usual, he couldn't turn down a chance to debate, especially when his professional skills were being questioned. “No, they bought a factory, a brand name, a few patents, and a customer list. And they still have those things. And believe me. No one was going to pay you more than they did, because none of that touchy-feely stuff makes it to the bottom line.”

Brian was now fully engaged, even angry. “You just don't get it, do you? The culture we built had more to do with our success than anything else. Those patents? Those products? The brand? Hell, those are a direct result of a bunch of people who loved their jobs.”

“No,” Rick countered, condescension creeping into his voice. “Those people loved their jobs because they were winning. And they were winning because you happened to have good products in the right market at the right time. All that other stuff is twenty-twenty hindsight bullshit.”

For a moment Brian thought he was going to hang up on Rick. Luckily, the beep on the line gave him a reason to end the call more civilly. “That's my other line. I've got to go.”

Before Rick could say “Me too,” Brian clicked over to the incoming call.

It was Rob, his old head of marketing. He was calling to thank him for his e-mail, but to assure him that he had no hard feelings about the earlier-than-expected job change.

“We all figured this was going to happen sooner or later. Heck, plenty of people have already left, and like me, most of them already have jobs lined up. And with the exit package that you negotiated for us, I'm actually pretty happy with everything. Besides, things aren't the same around here anyway.”

Brian was both relieved and heartbroken. “What about the folks in the factory?”

“Everything on the manufacturing side is staying here, so they'll be fine. I mean, it won't be as much fun for them, that's for sure. Some are probably going to leave just because they don't like the changes. But their jobs are relatively secure. There's even some talk about expansion.”

After the call was over, Brian ate breakfast with Leslie and confessed the sordid details of his binge the night before. She convinced him to call Rick back and mend whatever needed to be patched up between them.

As usual, Rick was jovial and unaffected by it all—if not just a little indelicate.

After accepting Brian's apology, he made a suggestion. “You know, maybe you should become a counselor or something up there.”

Brian was confused. “Why do you say that?”

“I don't know. You could put your interest in making people feel good about themselves to good use. I think you'd enjoy something like that. Less about the numbers. More about people.”

Though he knew Rick was trying to be nice, Brian found himself getting frustrated again. He took a breath. “Rick, do you think that I enjoyed running JMJ?”

Rick tried to backtrack. “Yeah, sure, it's just that, I don't know, your passion for people would probably be more appreciated in another line of work. That's all.”

Brian forced himself to be calm. He spoke slowly. “Okay, Rick. I'm going to explain this one more time. My interest in people is exactly why I liked being a CEO. That's why I was a good CEO.”

For a long five seconds, there was an awkward silence on the line.

Rick finally spoke, unconvincingly. “Maybe you're right, Brian. Maybe I'm wrong. Who knows? We might look back two years from now and find that JMJ has crashed and burned because employees stop feeling so good about themselves and their jobs.”

Brian was smiling when he asked his next question. “But you don't think so, do you?”

Rick chuckled, in a sheepish kind of way. “No I don't. But then again, I can be a real jerk sometimes.”

Brian laughed, apologized again for his diatribe, and thanked his obnoxious friend for taking the time to indulge the frustration of a retired old CEO.

When he hung up, Brian felt a strange sense of determination to prove his former roommate wrong. He could not have guessed how that would play out, and what the next few months had in store for him.

It Pours

The next day Brian promised his wife that he would renew his commitment to retirement, at least for a year. And then he went to the doctor.

His leg had not healed as well as they would have liked, and Brian was going to have to avoid any exercise for another six weeks. Certainly no skiing or hiking, and not even stationary cycling. No crutches, which was great, but no meaningful exercise other than walking.

Beside himself with frustration, Brian began to experience what felt like a bout of insanity.

And then it happened. One day as Leslie was out shopping, Brian grabbed the phone and made a call that would change his life, and that of his family, in a way that none of them could have imagined.

Take In

A youthful voice that Brian didn't recognize answered the phone. “Gene and Joe's.”

“Is Joe there?”

“No, I haven't seen him today. I guess he doesn't come in much on Mondays. But you might want to try tomorrow.”

“Wait. Is there a number where I can reach him?”

“Oh, sure. Let's see. Here it is.” He read the number to Brian. “Is there anything I can get for you, man? Something to eat maybe?”

Brian, surprised by the cheerful if not a little informal response, asked, “No, thanks. Are you new down there?”

“Yeah, this is my first day. How'd you know?”

“I just don't remember you, that's all. Anyway, thanks for the information.”

Brian then dialed Joe's number and left a message.

Later that evening, while Leslie and Brian were watching It's a Wonderful Life for the twenty-fifth time during their twenty-eight years of marriage, the phone rang. Leslie, being a little more mobile than her sore husband, answered it.

“Yes, can I say who's calling? Sure.”

With a puzzled look on her face, she explained. “It's someone name Joe Colombano, returning your call?”

Brian tried to react nonchalantly as though he wasn't the least bit interested in Joe Colombano or surprised that he was calling. “Right,” he responded matter-of-factly.

“Who's Joe Colombano?” she asked.

Brian didn't want to lie to her, but he certainly wasn't ready to tell her the entire story. “Oh, it's a nice old guy I met down at that Italian restaurant. I think I might be able to help him with a problem he's having.” He took the phone from Leslie and made his way toward one of the bedrooms.

She smiled at him as if to say, well, that's nice of you, and then asked, “You want me to pause this?”

“No, this should only take a minute, and I think I remember what happens.”

She smiled again and returned to the movie.

The Meeting

At nine o'clock the next morning, Brian put on a pair of khakis and a nice sweater and drove to Gene and Joe's. Only one car was in the parking lot—an old Toyota pickup truck with a camper shell on the back and a faded bumper sticker that said “Keep Tahoe Blue.”

Walking through the front door, Brian saw Joe sitting at a table, going through receipts of some kind, and drinking coffee.

“Excuse me?”

The old man turned, surprised by his guest. “Well hello there. You're the guy with the missing salad, aren't you?”

Brian nodded.

“What can I do for you? I'm afraid we won't be open for another—”

Brian politely interrupted the wrinkled entrepreneur. “I'm Brian Bailey. I spoke to you on the phone last night.”

Joe looked puzzled. “That was you?”

“That's right.”

“Oh. I guess I was expecting something, or someone, different.”

Clearing his papers from the center of the table, the old man regrouped. “Sit down, Brian.”

Brian took his résumé from a folder and handed it to Joe, who, after reading for a few seconds with a puzzled look on his face, started laughing.

“What is this, some kind of prank? What can I do for you, Mr. Bailey?”

“It's no joke, Joe. I'm here to apply for your weekend manager position.”

Joe looked down at the résumé again. “Is all this true?”

Brian nodded, clearly serious.

“Okay then. I guess I have to ask the question. Why in the world would you be applying for a job here?”

Before Brian could answer, Joe continued, as though he had figured something out.

“Did you just get out of prison or something? Or rehab?”

Brian smiled and shook his head. “No sir. Just recuperating from a skiing accident and trying to enjoy retirement.”

“And how does being the weekend manager at Gene and Joe's fit into the plans of a retired CEO?” Joe pronounced the letters as though he were unimpressed by them, or that he hadn't used them many times before. Brian decided it was the latter.

“Well, it doesn't, I guess. It's just something I want to do.”

Joe paused to consider the situation, still staring at the résumé, and then began to shake his head. “No. I'm sorry. This has to be some kind of prank.” He handed the résumé back across the table.

Brian didn't take it, so Joe continued, almost indignant, but in a friendly kind of way. “You expect me to believe that a big-time executive like you is going to come to work here for nine dollars an hour? I'm no idiot, mister.”

“Not only do I expect you to, I can't imagine you turning me down. I have to be the best candidate you've got right now.”

“That's not true.” Joe responded emphatically. “You're the only candidate I have right now. And I'm still not going to hire you.”

“Why not?”

“For one, because I don't believe you. And two, even if you were serious, you'd quit within twenty-four hours, forty-eight, tops.”

Now Brian was beginning to enjoy the bizarre interview. “What do I have to do to convince you that I'm serious?”

Joe thought about it. “I don't know.” He looked around the quiet restaurant as though an answer might suddenly appear. “You tell me.”

Brian smiled in a sly kind of way. “Okay, how about if I work for a week with no wages. If I'm still here after that, then you can pay me what you owe me from the first week. If not, you can keep it all.”

After a few seconds of consideration, Joe shook his head. “Come on now,” he looked at the résumé again, “Brian, what's wrong with you? This just doesn't make any sense.”

Now Brian became a little more serious. “You're right, Joe. It doesn't. But I have my reasons. And I need something to do. If not here, then I'll go to the next place that's looking to hire someone. I'm betting someone is going to be pretty glad to have me.”

Brian, sensing that Joe could see his point, continued.

“And if I don't do a good job, then fire me. But if I do a good job, then I'll expect to be rewarded.”

For the next twenty minutes, the two men went back and forth, with Brian at one time teasing that he would sue Gene and Joe's for discrimination against a guy with a bum knee. Joe accused Brian of having every ulterior motive possible, from being an undercover agent for the Food and Drug Administration to a host of the TV show Candid Camera.

Though it wasn't easy, Brian eventually wore the old man down, but at a price he hadn't expected.

With everything finally ironed out, Joe took a deep breath and, with what appeared to be complete earnestness, said, “Well, I don't usually like to take a chance on a guy who didn't finish college.”

Brian laughed as his new boss reached out his hand. “But I guess I'll make an exception. Welcome to Gene and Joe's. You can start Thursday night.”

Brian shook his hand as though Joe had just given him his first job, and left with the strangest sense of victory he had ever experienced. But any feelings of excitement disappeared when he thought about what he would say to his wife.

Sanity Check

Leslie was on the phone when Brian came home. As soon as she saw her husband, she wrapped up the call. “Yeah, he just walked in. I'll tell him you said hi. I've got to go too. Bye, honey, I love you.”

Leslie hung up and greeted her husband excitedly. “That was Lynne, and she's got some big news.”

“Didn't she want to talk to me?”

“She had to go to class. She said she'll call you tonight. Anyway, she had another interview today with Hilton, which went well, and she thinks she's going to get an offer.”

“That's great.” Though Brian would normally have been elated by the news, his pending conversation was muting some of his excitement.

“And guess which properties she might be able to choose from?” Leslie didn't give him a chance to guess. “Portland, San Antonio,” she paused, “and South Lake Tahoe!”

“You're kidding!”

“Nope. Wouldn't that be incredible?”

Brian badly wanted to postpone the conversation he was planning to have, but figured that he might as well take advantage of Leslie's good mood.

“That would be fantastic.”

Leslie knew her husband well enough to know that he wasn't as excited as she would have expected. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. It's just that I have some news too.”

Leslie seemed eager to hear.

“I was just at Gene and Joe's, the Italian place.”

Leslie nodded.

Brian looked at the ground, “I'm going to start helping them out down there.”

Leslie was neither excited nor disappointed. “That's great. What exactly are you going to be doing? Marketing or something?”

“No. Not exactly. I'm actually going to be doing some management stuff for Joe.”

“What does that mean?” Leslie hadn't quite figured it out. “Consulting?”

“No. I'm going to be running the restaurant for him three nights a week.”

Brian would never forget the look on his wife's face. In a matter of nanoseconds, it seemed to transform from interest to confusion to mild shock.

At first Leslie was too stunned to say anything. Finally, she began with the obvious question. “Are you serious?” She could see that he was, but had to ask anyway.

Brian nodded, like a twelve-year-old admitting that he ditched school.

With a mixture of dismay and pity in her voice, Leslie continued. “Why? Why in the world? What are you doing, honey?”

“It's complicated, Leslie.”

“So you think I'm not capable of understanding?”

“No, it's that I'm not sure I'm capable of explaining it.”

“Is it that you're bored with me? You have to know that this makes me feel pretty bad.”

The look on Brian's face was one of incredulity. “No, no. It's not that at all. I'm loving spending time with you. It's just that, I don't know, I need to be doing something. Managing something. Do you know how long it's been since I had no real problems to solve in my life? I just can't turn that off.”

“So you're going to be an employee at a fast-food joint?”

“No, not technically.”

Leslie was confused.

“I'm actually part owner of the place.”

Her mouth dropped.

Defense

What? Why would you—” She didn't finish the sentence.

Brian laughed, but in a guilty, almost scared kind of way. “Because that's the only way I could convince him to hire me. But I'm just a minority partner, and it only cost me twelve thousand dollars. And I figure that if I do a good job, maybe I can turn that into thirteen or fourteen.”

Leslie refused to acknowledge the joke. “I still don't get it. Why not do charity work? Or volunteer at church? Or heck, move to Africa and be a missionary? Why this?”

“I know it sounds weird—”

She interrupted him. “No, it doesn't sound weird. It is weird.”

Brian looked at the ground for a moment while Leslie waited for a response. When he looked up again, she could see he was a little hurt. She listened.

“I know it doesn't make sense right now, Les. And yes, I did think of doing volunteer work down at church, or starting a nonprofit.”

Again, Leslie jumped in, almost pleading. “See, that would be great. Why not do that?”

Brian now became a little more intense. “Because that's not what I do. I'm not an envelope stuffer or a doughnut hander-outer. I'm a manager, Les. I think it's my gift. I know that sounds corny, but I think it's true. Some people are naturals at painting or playing the piano or writing poetry or playing baseball. I'm good at managing.”

Leslie considered her husband's words, and let him continue.

“And I actually believe that the best way I can help people is by managing them. I don't build houses or grow corn or design aqueducts. I help people in their jobs.”

Leslie knew that her husband was sincere, and that what he was saying made some sense, but she was still confused. “But why that silly Italian restaurant? Why not a regular business?”

“Because it's right down the street, and it's only three nights a week. We're not moving back to the Bay Area or anything. You won't even know I'm gone.”

Brian could tell that Leslie was starting to buy in, so he let it all out.

“Leslie, I really want to see if I can figure out how to make this quirky little Italian fast-food drive-thru thrive. I saw the people who work there walking around like they're in a coma, and I remember when I first joined JMJ and saw some of the same things there. If I can give these people something to look forward to in their jobs, then that would be pretty neat.”

Leslie paused, considering the situation. “Does this have something to do with that butthead Rick?”

Brian laughed, not accustomed to his wife being quite so childishly crude. “Well, I'd be lying if I said no. But it's more than that. It's about proving to myself that JMJ wasn't a fluke, and that all the time and energy I put into people there had something to do with the success we had.”

Leslie was about to throw in the towel, and then decided to make one more attempt at sanity. “But it's a pizzeria.”

“Exactly. Don't the people who work there deserve to have a tolerable job as much as anyone else?”

Leslie took a few long seconds to consider her husband's point. Then she shook her head and unsuccessfully fought off a smile. “You're a strange, strange man, Brian Bailey.”

All Brian could do was agree.