Downsized

LIA Chapter 1 THE BOSS As I grew older, I came to hate flying. I was not afraid of dying in a fiery accident or a crash at sea. No, I disliked constantly checking times and schedules; the ride to the airport; the standing in lines, the waiting, the excuses when the plane was not on schedule and the hassle whenever the plane was canceled. I detested sitting uncomfortably for long periods of time, cramped shoulder to shoulder alongside someone you never knew or were unlikely to ever meet again. Moreover, I dreaded the way I felt after a flight, all tired and murky. Most of all, I never could accept the loneliness of the days and weeks away from home. The first time I met Nick was aboard a plane. It was after an aerospace industry conference in Vancouver, Canada. I had represented my company at the conference and was returning to New York. I arrived early at Vancouver International Airport for the shuttle flight to Seattle and waited with a small group of passengers in the departure lounge. Not many came before I boarded and as the time approached to close the gate, I began to look forward to a flight with an empty seat beside me. Anticipating a view of the mountains, I moved from my assigned aisle seat to the window seat. Then, I saw him. He looked quite formidable as he attempted to navigate his large frame in a semi-sidestep necessitated by the narrow center aisle of the Boeing jetliner. Impeccably dressed in business attire-gray slacks, navy blue blazer, white shirt and maroon colored necktie-he stood well over six foot and appeared to weigh close to three hundred pounds. He stopped beside my aisle, looked at his ticket, then at me. His brown eyes were both friendly and discerning. "I believe I have the window seat,” he said holding his ticket for me to verify. My eyes darted from him, to the ticket, then back to the large, olive complected face with the predominate nose. I feigned a look of surprise, lowered my head, and muttered, "Fine. I... Ah. I'd rather have an aisle seat anyway." I continued to evade eye contact while fumbling with my seat belt and moving to the center aisle. Sheepishly, I squeezed behind him and waited. Before moving to the vacated seat, Nick balanced his briefcase on top of the headrest. His thick thumbs snapped the case open and he extracted a hard cover copy of a Stephen King novel. Glancing at me, he smiled, said, "Reading Material," and closed the snaps. He took a deep breath, hesitated, and slowly exhaled while lifting the case to the overhead compartment. Laboring to remove his jacket in the cramped confines of the narrow aisle, he folded it neatly, placed the jacket on top of the briefcase and shut the compartment hatch. He turned to me, nodded and said, "Thank you." I returned his nod and watched as he placed his huge hands-one holding the book-on the backrest in front of him for support. He squeezed between the seats to the window and literally plopped, compressing his large frame into the narrow seat and emitted a low groan. After fastening his seat belt and lowering the tray-table, he readjusting his body, removed a brown eyeglass case from his shirt pocket and placed the novel and eyeglass case on the table, I caught myself staring and quickly lowered my body into the aisle seat and fastened my seat belt. "I'm Dylan Gleason," I said extending my hand. "I'm with LIA-LONG ISLAND AIRBORNE." I expected a bone crushing response but instead encountered a gentle but firm handshake. "Nick... Nick DeGrosa. I'm with DIX AVIATION." "I know,” I said barely able to contain my adulation. "I saw you on the podium at the conference. You’re the Manufacturer Representative." "Yeah… Yeah I am." "Sounds like a lot of work." He grinned and said, "I don't mind.” The overhead speaker interrupted all conversation as it crackled with instructions from the flight attendant. While she spoke, Nick removed his horn rim reading glasses, adjusted the glasses on his nose, and opened his novel. He hunted for a particular page, then propped his hands on the edge of the tray table, and began reading. A man, well in his fifties, considerably overweight, there was something intimidating about him. It was not his dress or his size or the Italian face with the elongated scars on both temples that seemed to proclaim him a `MAFIA' chieftain. There was a sense of intrigue intermingled with an aura of self-assurance. The ride from Vancouver to Seattle went quickly. I remained silent and perused the in-flight magazine while Nick read. We parted after the plane landed. He caught a flight to Fort Lauderdale while I went to New York, During the next few years, whenever we met at other industry functions, he always gave me a friendly hello but said little else. The years passed and I moved to a middle management position within my company. When my immediate supervisor retired, I envisioned still another step up the managerial ladder. I felt confidant I was the best person qualified for the vacated position and wasn't surprised when one afternoon the Director of Marketing, Bob Heavisize, appeared at my office. True to his name, Bob was a very big man. Standing in the middle of the office doorway, his enormous body almost filled the opening. It was common knowledge his doctor had advised him to cease smoking and lose weight or risk a possible stroke. In spite of the warning, Bob's response was halfhearted. He did not lose weight but-while he constantly clutched his unlit, tobacco stained, white clay pipe between his teeth-he did stop smoking. The pipe complemented his carefully trimmed white handlebar mustache and thick, heavily lacquered, ash colored hair. He appeared nervous, his bloated face pale. After removing the pipe with his right hand and fondling it with his fingers he spoke. "Dylan! Oh... Excuse me," he said, the handlebar mustache fluttering with his words. "I want you to meet someone." He stepped forward and to one side. I glanced pass Bob's bulging two tone brown jacket and saw Nick's smiling face. "I know Nick!" I exclaimed and pulled away from my chair. I extended my hand while moving along the desk. "It's good to see you again! What brings you to New York?" "I'm looking for a job." Nick replied while accepting my handshake. "You? Why?" He hesitated then shrugged his shoulders and chuckled, "Because I'm out of work and need a job." I was shocked, embarrassed by my question. "How could such a well known man be looking for work?" I asked myself during the moment of awkward silence while I attempted to word a clever response. The moment ended when I uttered, "I wish you luck... Really." Despite the smile that remained frozen on his face, Nick appeared to grimace. The two large men and I spent several minutes discussing mutual acquaintances and the general condition of the aerospace industry before Bob said there were others he wanted Nick to meet and moved to leave. Nick offered his hand and I wished him success in his search for a job. Later that day I made my way to the Marketing Director's office. The door was open and Bob was alone. His unlit pipe danced between his teeth while he reviewed the computer spreadsheet before him. I knocked before entering. Bob looked up and smiled. "Come on in," he said motioning me to a seat in front of his desk. He reached up, removed his half glasses, and carefully folded the spreadsheet on the desktop. "Well Dylan," he asked, "what can I do for you?" "I wanted to speak to you…. About Nick DeGrosa." Sensing Bob's tense reaction, I hesitated, then added, "Nick said he was looking for a job." Bob's smile vanished. He did not say a word as he eased forward in his chair and studied me.