Newsletter of the East Bay Chapter of STC
November/December 2003

Half-Full

by Adrienne Tange
EBSTC Member

Gina Devon, ex-StoryLine Technical Writer, grabbed the last stack of her prized editing books from her metal office desk and dumped them into an empty cardboard box. This morning, Bill Stern, her manager, had entered her cubicle looking pale and grim and told her that StoryLine was laying off all its employees and closing their San Francisco office.

Most StoryLine employees were not surprised by the news, except for maybe naive Carey Reed, a thirty-something technical writer who worked with Gina. Management had run through the startup’s funding at lightning speed. However, the timing of the closure had stunned and angered Gina and the others.

They could have at least waited until after the holidays, Gina thought bitterly. Instead, they lay us off two weeks before Thanksgiving! Finding a job during the holiday season in this economy will be impossible.

As Gina placed the last of her books in the box, Carey walked by and stood dejectedly at her cubicle entrance. “I guess you were right.”

Gina eyed her empty cubicle for anything she had missed. She then looked at the younger woman, noticing the frozen smile on her face. Gina wanted to rub it in but knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. Carey had always annoyed her—partly because Carey was young, cute, and thin while Gina, twenty years older, felt old, plain, and frumpy—and partly because Carey was eternally optimistic and Gina was forever pessimistic. She had warned Carey that the company would probably shut down, but the young writer refused to believe it. Carey always saw the glass as half-full while Gina saw it as half-empty.

Gina sighed. “I wish I wasn’t right.”

The younger woman, her blue eyes misty, stepped over and gave Gina a quick hug. “Don’t worry, Gina. With all your experience, you’ll find a job in no time. Besides, it’s a blessing we were let go. We didn’t enjoy being here anyway, so let’s look at it as a chance to make a career change.”

There’s that annoying Carey-optimism, Gina thought. That’s easy for her to say. I have a family to support.

But Gina held her tongue. She was too angry to argue with Carey. She just wanted to go home and change into her comfortable gray sweats and lie on the couch. They said their goodbyes and then Gina grabbed her purse and the hefty box, steeling herself for the long walk to the BART station in the rain.

Gina stood in the lobby watching through the large glass doors as the rain fell on the city street. Gray clouds and a steady light drizzle shrouded the city. Pedestrians in their black and gray London Fog raincoats hurried along the wet sidewalks to avoid getting soaked. The entire landscape looked like a giant, dreary watercolor painting created only with shades of gray.

Or maybe that observation is a reflection of my mood, she thought.

Gina set the box on the carpeted floor and covered her frizzy shoulder-length brown hair with the hood of her navy raincoat. She then picked up the box again and ventured out into the wet, cold weather.

As she strode quickly down the street, she thought about the adjustments she would have to make with her budget. She thought about how she would have to tell the kids that there would be fewer presents under their tree at Christmas. And she thought again about what a rotten time it was to be laid off.

Lost in thought, Gina stepped off the curb into the crosswalk on Market Street without looking. Suddenly, someone yanked her back up onto the sidewalk, causing her to drop the box with a loud thud. Within seconds, a large truck sped through the crosswalk, spraying a sheet of dirty water onto her.

A thin middle-aged man helped her up and looked at her anxiously. He had short strawberry blond hair and was very tall and slightly hunched over, like a cattail bowed by a strong breeze. “Lady, you need to watch where you’re going!” Rivulets of water were dripping down his face. Gina saw a black leather computer case and an open black umbrella next to him on the cement.

“You know, he just saved your life.” An old woman with a clear plastic rain hat tied snugly over her short white hair looked at her with concern. She was standing right next to the man. The woman rummaged through her large brown purse, pulled out a tissue, and handed it to Gina. “Here, wipe your face.”

Gina took the tissue and started automatically wiping her face. She looked down at her coat, splattered with mud and water. She was sure she looked awful.

“What—what happened?” she stammered, her heart beating like mad.

“You almost got hit by that truck! It ran the light and almost hit you while you were in the intersection,” the man said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Yes, you are very fortunate,” the old woman said, nodding in agreement. “This must be your lucky day.”

Lucky day! Boy, are you wrong, Gina thought.

Though thoroughly rattled, Gina thanked the man profusely for saving her life. She then explained that her day had started off badly with the StoryLine layoff and that she had been distracted by it.

The man nodded sympathetically when she told him about the layoff. “Here’s my card,” he said, pointing to his name, Trevor Langer, VP of Engineering, printed in small blue type. “When you feel up to it, call me. I work at Interval, which I am sure you know is StoryLine’s main competitor.”

Gina shoved the card in her pocket and thanked them both again. She then looked carefully both ways and crossed Market Street.

Lucky? she thought. This is the worst day of my life! I get laid off from my job and almost get hit by a truck. Of course, the Careys of the world would argue that it’s a matter of perspective. They’d say that losing this job could be a blessing and, sure, I was almost hit, but this man just saved my life.

As Gina mulled this over, walking the last block toward the station, she noticed a man dressed in dirty torn clothes, his face caked with a layer of grime, huddling under an overhang. He stared at her as she approached him and then shuffled over to her.

Gina winced inwardly. Would he badger her for money?

“Lady,” the man rasped, his face beaming with excitement, “if you need a hot meal for Thanksgiving, the shelter down the street is giving out free food!” He lifted a dirty finger and pointed to a brick building down the street.

Why is he telling me this? Gina puzzled. Suddenly, she guessed the answer. Because of her appearance, her dirty face and wet mud-spattered clothes, he thought that she was homeless like him.

“Thanks for the tip,” she smiled. The man insisted on writing his name down so that she could say he sent her there. Gina felt in her pocket and found a business card and pen, which she handed to him.

The homeless man scribbled his name on the card and handed it back to Gina. She thanked him again and prayed that nothing else would happen on the way home. Luckily, nothing did.

The next morning, while sipping her morning coffee at the kitchen table, Gina called the number on the card that Trevor Langer had given her. Interval was one of the few profitable software firms in San Francisco. When Gina started to remind him of who she was, Trevor stopped her. “Yes—hello!” he answered warmly. “How are you doing?”

Gina thanked him again for saving her life. She wanted to repay him for his good deed, but Trevor wouldn’t hear of it.

“What I could really use is a technical writer to help on a project. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be one?” Trevor joked.

This is weird, Gina thought. She explained that she was indeed a writer. They discussed the project and set up a time for an interview. Gina couldn’t believe her good fortune.

“I guess yesterday was your lucky day,” Trevor quipped.

“Yeah,” Gina joked back. “Some homeless guy even told me where I could get a free Thanksgiving dinner. I guess I looked homeless myself. The weird thing is that his last name is Langer just like yours.”

There was silence on the phone. For a second Gina was afraid that she had offended Trevor.

“His last name was Langer?” Trevor asked.

Gina explained how he had written down the name “Charlie Langer” on the card.

“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Trevor. “Maybe yesterday was a lucky day for both of us. That man sounds like my father, Charles Langer. My family and I have been looking for him for years. Finally, this year we can spend Thanksgiving with him.”

And at that moment, Gina looked at her half-full coffee cup and thought of Carey.

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