The labor action had been threatened for weeks, and the deadline for a walkout by members of the International Brotherhood of the Unrecognized and Marginalized had arrived. Thankfully membership in the local chapter of I-Bum numbered in the low to mid-single digits. But a walkout is a walkout and this one was being taken seriously by Roz and upper management.
It was New Year’s Eve and the countdown to the walkout was on, and we were seated around the big oval table in the conference room reserved for important meetings.
“Okay, Wilson is in with Big Mike right now trying to negotiate an agreement,” Roz said. “He promised an update in just a few minutes and hopefully we can get this done and get out of here for New Year’s.”
Andy the Suck Up nodded in agreement from across the table.
“We were so lucky to get Wilson back on board as our Chief Labor Liaison,” he said. “His expertise and skill set for this stuff are-“
“Non-existent,” I said. “Let’s face it, the man is winging it.”
“And that’s fine,” Roz said. “The Big Guy wanted him as the negotiator and that’s all that matters.”
Before I could offer another disparaging remark, Wilson burst in with the urgency of a doctor late for surgery.
“Okay look, here’s where we’re at,” he said, taking a seat next to Roz. “Mike has agreed to a compromise on some points. He said he can see how the paid parental leave until the child is eighteen does seem a bit excessive.”
“Ya think?” I said.
“He’s willing to take three months, and I think he’d even go down to two.”
“Yes,” Roz yelled, pumping a hand in the air. “Great work, Wilson.”
“Oh brother,” I muttered.
“The bike lanes in the hallways are a non-negotiable,” Wilson said.
“Not a big deal,” Roz said.
“Right,” Andy said, “like how many people are actually going to use them?”
“Although they do want the little cyclist silhouettes to be painted on the carpet in the hallways, and a couple of lines down the center to clearly indicate there is a cycling lane available,” Wilson said.
Roz spoke as she scribbled a note. “We can have facilities look into that ASAP.”
I checked the time on my phone. It was closing in on nine o’clock and I was itching to get out of here and get home. Twenty twenty-two was just around the corner and there was no way I was going to ring in the NewYear in a conference room.
“Great job, Wilson,” I said. “So that should do it, right? We have the excessive parental leave and bike lanes settled. All is good and I-Bum’s fledgling union is off and running and all set to join the Teamsters in the annals of the labor movement.”
“Ah, not so fast,” Wilson said.
“The beer,” Roz said.
Wilson nodded. “Yup.”
The demand for free beer was one of I-Bum’s original requests. I was pretty sure Mike was behind it, although I could easily see Stephens coming up with the hair-brained scheme. Either way, hats off to them. They actually had their employer talking about offering employees free beer.
“Mike says he would like a mix of craft beers along with some of the more popular mainstream brews,” Wilson said.
“Seems reasonable,” Andy said.
“You’re…you’re actually considering this?” I asked.
Roz looked up from her notes and looked across the table at me. “We’re under orders to get this labor uprising under control. We’re all going to have to give a little and agree to things we don’t like.”
Andy was nodding like a bobblehead. “That’s right, the Big Guy said, ‘get it done.’ He didn’t specify what to agree to and what not to agree to, other than the 18 years of paid parental leave.”
I looked across at Wilson, our newly named Chief Labor Liaison. He shrugged.
“Okay,” Roz said, “take this offer back to Mike. Tell him beer on Friday afternoons. We can do two kegs, and it’s up to the union what beers are in each.”
I was having a hard time believing what I was hearing. I had to go through an endless string of email requests and wait more than a month to get a laptop replaced, but somehow Mike was getting free beer on Fridays by merely asking, okay, demanding it.
Wilson texted the offer, his thumbs moving like a teenager’s. A second later the reply came.
“Done,” he said.
“Whew,” Roz said. “Double check the other items. Make sure we’re in agreement with I-Bum on everything. See if they’ll go for two months parental leave.”
Minutes passed. Andy stood up, stretched and began pacing. Roz tapped way at her phone. Wilson was busy looking pleased with himself. A few moments later his phone dinged.
“Deal,” Wilson exclaimed. “We have a tentative agreement with I-Bum to avoid a strike.
Roz shot out of her chair and hooted. She and Andy exchanged an awkward high-five like there had been some grand achievement.
“All that has to happen now is for the rank and file to ratify it,” Wilson said.
“There’s three of them,” I said. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“Yup,” Wilson said, looking at his phone. “Done deal. Mike says the agreement was just overwhelmingly approved.”
“Let’s tell the boss,” Roz said, making a call on her phone and putting the device on the table for all to hear.
A few seconds later the Big Guy’s voice boomed from the phone.
“This better be good,” he said. “We’ve got guests arriving any minute for New Year’s.”
“We have a deal with I-Bum,” Roz said. “No strike.”
The Big Guy let out a holler as if a year-long standoff with a legitimate union had just been settled.
“It this all Wilson’s doing?” he asked.
“It is,” Roz said.
“Damn, I just knew he’d be prefect for this role as a negotiator. Roz, we’ll talk after the first of the year, but I want to carve out a new role for him. We can’t afford to lose someone that gifted and talented.”
There was some more backslapping and congratulating and when the call thankfully ended I shot Wilson a look.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
He shrugged and smiled. “When you got it, you got it.”
“That’s it?” I asked. “That’s all you can say.”
“Oh,” he said, “That and Happy New Year.”