The Firing of Sam Woolidge

He leaned back to look at the items lying on the rear passenger seat floorboard. There were watches, nice watches. There were pens. Other fine quality items he’d been given. He’d say they meant nothing to him, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth. In fact, their value was, by any standard, high. But to him, they represented something different than money. They were a trophy of his resistance. A symbol of his stubbornly high self-esteem. He knew what he was worth. And to quit his job at the prodding of those people wishing to skirt past what the company would owe him at retirement, he was not about to give in. Sam was old. He wasn’t a 20-something-year-old, those young men and women willing to work for half their worth just because it meant they had a job. He’d been there already. His career was coming to an end, and everyone knew it. But he wasn’t going to quit, no matter how tough they made it to endure. The parent company was looking out for the parent company’s best interest, and that meant Sam quitting on his own. That way they wouldn’t owe him a thing. But Sam wasn’t giving in. So pricy gifts were given, hoping to soften his resolve. It didn’t work. There they were, on the back seat floorboard. Getting dirty from the bottom of people’s shoes. He didn’t want a nice watch. He wanted to be respected. That kind of motivation cannot be broken easily.