Chapter Text
His Royal Dickishness. So that’s what the Sheffield Branch calls me.
„That just means that you can’t hear him, not that he can’t hear you.“, I can hear a muffled yell. The cadence leads me to believe it must come from Samwise Becker, the branch manager that I hired about two years ago. I cannot make myself feel less angry at his consideration of, at least, the technical implications of calling your boss a dick in front of what must be the whole shop floor but I collect my rage as good as I can muster – which I’m painfully aware of, probably wouldn’t be considered ‚good‘ by any other person’s standards.
„So“ I begin, stalling for countenance a second „this isn’t what I was originally calling you about but why the hell is your assistant manager calling me His Royal Dickishness in front of what sounded like the whole shop?“ I cannot hold back the gratingly obvious aspect of public humiliation from my question, feeling it burning in my stomach almost as if I was standing in a schoolyard and Samwise had just called me a f*****.
“It’s affectionate?” Sam half-asks, half reassures me and I feel my ears go warm at the two-fold implication his words hold: that he thinks that explanation could land with me because I could be a person someone would show affection to and furthermore, that I could be a person believing such utter bullshit. I know that the former is not so, especially not among my staff. He can’t actually be thinking this is gonna calm me down, can he?
After a short discussion regarding if ‚bastard‘ is a northern term of endearment that was just lost on me in my sixteen years living there, - oh, we’re off to a good start – I thankfully can steer the conversation back into the direction I had originally planned for:
„Splashes & Snuggles has three branches now and a fourth opening next year. The Croydon branch is performing as I expect it to. The Leeds branch is performing as I expect it to. The Sheffield branch, decidedly, is not.”
“In what way exactly are we not performing as you expect us to?” Samwise asks, and I can feel my frustration already rearing it’s head.
“You’re over budget and under target. And, frankly, I’m a bit concerned you don’t already know that.” Even I hear the impatient undertones in my voice.
“I know what the figures are, Jonathan. But we’re a new store, it’s a competitive area, and we’re getting pretty close.” Oh how I regret offering him a first name-basis one year into working for me …
“I didn’t hire you to get pretty close.” My voice is barely under contol now and I can’t seem to regain it, not even concerning the content of what it is I’m trying to say.
“I hired you to meet the goals I give you, and if you can’t, I’ll find someone who can.” This is completely uncalled for and I know it and I’m surprised when he doesn‘t push back.
“I’m sure we can work something out.” Even his tone has changed. Does he sound tired?
“I’ve already worked something out.” I hope this conveys that I really have every intention of making this work between us, professionally, I mean, “I don’t want to let you go, Sam. I think you’ve got it in you to be a really good manager.“ And also, I would really miss seeing you at the boring christmas parties you always so devotedly come to.
There is a short pause as I push that thought back and prepare to drop the final bomb:
„So, as I said, I can see your potential and I have already run some numbers and strategies considering the current and prospective performance of the Sheffield branch, and I would like to make some suggestions,“ I emphasize that word in the hopes of coming across as willing to compromise, even when I decidedly know I’m not „as to how we can work this out – towards general satisfaction. So that’s why,” I finish, “I want you to come to Croydon tomorrow so you can see how I do things.“
As I would have expected on a thursday afternoon only a few weeks before christmas, Samwise is trying everything to get out of it, it is almost admirable. But I stay firm in insisting he be in Croydon tomorrow morning at 8 o’clock and just hang up the phone before I say even more I’ll regret.
As I sit there in front of the phone, contemplating what had just happened, I feel as if I had just run a marathon. Damn Samwise Becker and his anti-authoritarianism in which he is pushing back against me all the time. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try hard not to think of the more obvious things I would much more appreciate him pushing back against.
But even as I unlock the door to my house, drop my work bag in the study and order my usual single person portion of thai food, I can not really shake that thought. And as I sit on the couch loosening my tie and not watching the sitcom the BBC had suggested to me, the feeling creeps up on me that I have made a terrible mistake in ordering Samwise to my office the following day.