The Letter - Quick Write 4/18/11

 Wrote the bare bones of this in 20 minutes.  Then spent another 40 adding detail and flushing it out.  It has potential, but I'm not sure I want to write another story with violence in it just yet.  And this Frank is just brimming with violence, no?

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The Letter

He had worked at that soul-sucking company without complaint for ten years, and this was the last straw.  Frank stared at the crisp, white paper in his hand in disbelief.  He had remained loyal to Lakes for 37 years.  Despite every degrading and insulting demand they had thrown his way - pay freezes, reduced hours, a revolving door of incompetent, overpaid middle managers - he had tried to see things from the company perspective.  He had accepted every pathetic excuse they had given him. 

"Times are tough all over, Frank."
"I understand, Mr. Pickford."

"There just aren't enough hours this week, Frank."
"Maybe next week will be better, Mr. Pickford."

"It's too bad for the guys who used to work the line, but without that new sorting technology we would lose our edge.  Then there'd be no jobs for anyone, Frank."
"Of course, you're right, Mr. Pickford."

He had bent over backwards for that damned company for 2/3 of his life, and this was how they chose to repay him?  Less than 100 words (even counting that jackass's pompous signature) on a single sheet of copy paper?  Perhaps he had simply misunderstood.  He scanned the brief paragraphs one more time. 

Dear Mr. Miller,

This letter is to inform you that you no longer qualify to receive health benefits through Lakes Recycling and Waste Management.  Health coverage is provided to full time employees only, and since your hours have averages fewer than 40/week for the last 6 months, we will be reclassifying your position as part time effective September 1st.

Please contact the Human Resources department at (723) 555 - 8832 if you have questions regarding this change to your employment status.

Sincerely,

James L Pickford, Jr
Senior Management
Lakes Recycling and Waste Management
There was no chance of misunderstanding.  The meaning was crystal clear.  His reward for being a cooperative and understanding employee was to lose what few extra hours he could pick up, the minimal dollars they brought in, and his insurance all in one carefully crafted letter.  With the news from Helen's recent appointment still weighing on his mind like a lead blanket, their timing couldn't have been more perfect. 

Frank tossed the offending letter on the table and stood up.  Grabbing his jacket and slapping a baseball cap on his head, he headed out the back door.  What the hell was he going to do now?  Frank didn't have an answer to that question yet, but one thing was certain.  Someone was going to pay.

He stomped his way across the yard toward the shed.  Helen's cat, Greta, saw him coming and high-tailed it for the bushes, hissing resentfully at his intrusion onto her hunting grounds.  He and Greta had a hate/hate relationship, and that was just fine with him.  He paused to insert a key into the padlock holding the shed's door closed.  Used to be that you didn't have to lock up everything you owned.  Now you couldn't leave a potted plant on the porch for fear some neighborhood brat would steal it and try to smoke it.  The lock popped open, and Frank nudged a brick in front of the door to keep it ajar.

The light was bad inside the shed.  There was only one window, and that was so thickly covered with dust and grime that it reduced even the brightest summer sun to a murky gloom.  Frank had originally intended to hook the shed up with electricity, but those bastards down at city hall did everything they could to keep the average Joe from understanding their convoluted building and renovation codes.  By now, he knew the inside of that shed like the curve of his wife's hips.  It was familiar, comforting.  No point in changing things this late in the game.