The Watering Hole

The noon meeting was, as usual, packed. I sat in my regular spot--dead in the middle of the nonsmoking side of the room. It was a few minutes before 12:00, with everyone buzzing, settling in with their coffee and ashtrays. Two men walked in and moved toward the last seats available: the front of the smoking section. At first, all I could see was their backs, but as they turned to sit I recognized one of them. Let's call him Mike. A few years earlier, Mike had worked in one of the divisions I oversee for a large organization. As the division manager, I had given his supervisor authorization to fire him for behaviors that could arguably be typical of many alcoholics. Mike's departure was viewed as "good riddance" by management and labor alike.