The Next Bus

I once missed a bus after being fired because I didn’t want the man who had fired me to see me run.

The office windows faced the stop. I couldn’t make out anybody behind them. He might have gone back downstairs. He might have been taking a leak. Nevertheless I crossed the forecourt at a pace suitable for a man whose afternoon had gone reasonably well. When the bus came around the corner, I stopped to zip my coat.

It was a stubborn zip. I had time to catch the bus or zip the coat, and I chose to demonstrate that I was still capable of dressing myself. The bus went past. I watched it go with what I hoped was the expression of a man waiting for a different bus.

Then I had to keep standing there.

I liked the man. Once a customer had accused me of keeping some of his change, and he’d counted the till himself, found it correct and asked the customer to apologize. The customer hadn’t, but I’d appreciated the attempt. It was not a magnificent job. It was useful to have somebody occasionally establish that I was not a thief.

He had explained why I was going. A part of the business was closing. I had been working in that part. There were things I wanted to ask, but none of them would have opened it again. I could see he felt bad. I felt bad for him feeling bad, which used up some attention I might have spent on my own position. By the time I got outside I had the impression we’d both been fired, though only one of us was going to have trouble with the rent.

I had said, “All right.”

This was supposed to mean I had heard him. It is an unfortunate expression for that purpose. There was nothing all right about it. But “I have heard the information” is not something I could say to a man I knew without sounding as if I had already begun a legal action.

I had also nodded. There is a nod for continuing to listen and a nod for agreeing, and I had never learned to keep them separate. Mine was a fairly generous nod. Given a little encouragement it could have signed a reference for him.

He hadn’t asked me to absolve him. I ought to be clear about that. I had started on my own. There was a silence, he looked unhappy, and I put something in it. I would have preferred to put my coat on. Instead I said I knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Now there was a man who still had a job, indoors, and a man who didn’t, outdoors, and the second man was concerned about his walking speed.

I would be willing to have an AI tell me next time. I don’t mean choose me. I mean deliver the sentence while I am alone with a plate of food. Breakfast would do. There should be nothing I have to switch on a camera for. I want to be able to chew while the news is arriving, and, if necessary, continue chewing after it has arrived. I don’t want the chewing entered into anybody’s estimate of how I took it.

The notice I have in mind would give the reason plainly. It would tell me whom to ask about my pay and how to reach the person who could answer an objection. I might have an objection. I am not volunteering to become convenient to dispose of. I would like a little time to discover what my objection is, without a decent man’s wet eyes making it seem vindictive.

Also, no button marked I UNDERSTAND.

I could receive the news without understanding it. I could understand it and think it was bullshit. These would be different mornings. A button saying I’VE GOT THIS would be worse. I haven’t got it. It’s got me. Let the notice sit there. I’ll know where to find it.

What attracts me is the possibility of being unpleasant without giving anybody an afternoon to remember. I could call the whole operation a miserable outfit. I could change my mind and admit they’d paid me regularly. I could do both in the same minute. I would not have to settle on a version of myself for a witness.

There was still the walk back through the building to consider. I’d taken it already, but I kept finding improvements. I should have fetched my things before the meeting. Except I hadn’t known what the meeting was. I should have left my things there and come back another day. Then I would have needed to telephone and arrange a time to collect a lunch tin and a pair of shoes. There would have been another visit to dread, for shoes I didn’t especially like.

I’d brought them in a shopping bag. The lunch tin knocked against the heels. I put the bag down between my feet. It looked like something I’d been sent out to buy.

A man came to the stop and asked if the bus had gone. I told him it had. He asked how long ago.

“Just now,” I said.

He looked along the road, then at me. I could see the question coming, why hadn’t I got on it, and I was preparing an explanation about not having the right change when he sat down on the low wall and began to eat an apple. He didn’t need to know. I liked him immediately.

I had other explanations to prepare. A man I knew sometimes had work shifting stock. He would ask what had happened to my job. I could tell him the department had closed. This was true, but it sounded as though I had studied the matter and chosen to leave. I could tell him I’d been fired. That would bring him to attention. He might have work for me, but first he would want the interesting part.

I wanted to telephone him before somebody else did. I also wanted to postpone telling anybody until I had got used to knowing it myself. My last wages were going to have to accommodate these two wishes.

The man with the apple offered me a piece. He had a little knife and had been cutting sections off it. I said no thanks. Then I said yes, if he didn’t mind. He handed me a section on the flat of the blade.

I ate it and watched the road. When the next bus appeared, he put the knife away and stood up. I picked up my bag. The shoes shifted and the lid came off the lunch tin. There was a sandwich in it. I’d forgotten about lunch. I put the lid back on and held it down with my thumb.

Source: 41 leaders on the work they would never hand off to AI