This was an office. Not just an office, but a corner office. It had a window view. Admittedly, the view was more of the parking lot and roads, but one could glimpse neat little buildings surrounded by trees and watch people go about their lives. It was certainly more interesting than a cubicle. The cubicle was more of a prison. It was a box, not unlike a cell, one was surrounded by gray walls. The only difference was that prisoners are more comfortable. They get beds and sometimes have a magazine to read. They can even talk to their cellmate! In a cubicle, there is one uncomfortable chair and a computer. No one to talk to, only work. But that was all behind him. He had his office now and even a name plaque. “Dr. Geoff Blizzard, Vice President of Innovation” it read. Sometimes, when he got bored he could kick up his feet on his very own desk, and relax. It had been great. He had been enjoying this office for the past year. He was in the money, raking in a good one-hundred sixty grand.

One day, the CEO, Jim, asked Geoff to come into his office. He had an even bigger office. “Geoff, you’ve done some great work for the company. When you came four years ago, we were ready to go under, but somehow you managed to pull us back up and save the company. Now I’m sure you’re aware of the current economic situation. We have decided that it’s best to just focus on our sales and marketing departments. We are cutting our department of innovation. I’m sorry, but you are being laid off,” Jim paused for a second to look at Geoff’s reaction. He was shocked to see a face of stone. No emotion. It worried him that he could not tell what Geoff was thinking. He continued, shifting to a cheerful tone and a synthetic smile, “However, you have also gotten a six-month severance package!” Geoff’s expression still did not change.

At last, Geoff curtly said, “Thank you.” He walked out of Jim’s office and returned to his own. He gently placed his trembling hand across his desk, then dragged it to his name plaque. He slowly walked around his desk to his chair. It was never much more comfortable than one of those cubicle chairs, but he sat in it all the same. He had bonded with this chair, it was there to support him every morning and never failed. He would miss that chair. He silently packed his possessions into his bag. His laptop and name plaque among them. He stood and stared out his window view for the last time, and left.

Later that day, as he sat at home watching Comedy Central, trying to rebuff his spirits, he finally decided to check his answering machine. It was filled. One message was from Asha Bodhi. He listened to her thick Indian accent: I just learned about what happened. I can’t believe they did that to you. You were the best. I could not have asked for a better boss or mentor. I learned so much under you. I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I will never forget it.

His answering machine was filled with others just like it. He would never forget either.