Up For Auction

"Sorry, it's just that nobody in this building knows anything about the Acquisitions Office," Errol conceded, "It all seems so mysterious and maybe even a little creepy."

"Yeah, well, we have are reasons for keeping certain things under wraps," Herb assured, "but I need you to think of the role as that of an analyst of sorts. Somebody who is not afraid to write the rules that don't presently exist and rewrite the rules that no longer make sense."

The description was vague and left everything to the imagination. Without sounding critical or rebellious, Errol demurred, "Why choose me?"

Herb had been pacing the floor and leaning against walls while standing and talking. To answer this open-ended question, he eased himself into an armchair, set his palms on the table and made penetrating eye contact. "Fair question," he acknowledged, "I personally selected you because of something you did a few years after joining the firm. You weren't striving to achieve a metric, expecting a parchment certificate suitable for framing or even trying to get one of those tiny trophies we hand out like bubble gum. Instead, you stepped up to help a really good guy with a very bad problem."

Errol looked perplexed as he struggled to remember anything he had ever done that would warrant such recognition from the Corporate Treasurer. "Sorry, Sir, I don't know what you mean. Every curator in my department works tirelessly to develop the best possible auction catalogs. I can't say I've ever done anything that would stand above the work of my peers."

"Please call me Herb," directed the executive, "What you did wasn't in your job description and was neither required, nor expected of you or anybody else on our payroll. That what really set you apart from the rest of our people."

Errol was even more baffled and his face must have shown it. Herb explained with military authority, "Thirteen years ago, when terrorists thought they could eliminate Capitalism by steering airplanes into nearly empty office towers, we were all scrambling to figure out how to get things back to normal. Lower Manhattan was a mess, public transportation came to a standstill and employee morale suffered. It took nearly two weeks to get a single day's work done. While the rest of us were too busy worried about our own personal problems, you were helping a displaced co-worker by giving him a place to live."

Errol pushed back in his chair with an exasperated sigh, "You knew about that?"

Herb smirked, "I did. Weeks before, we learned that a newly hired warehouse worker was living as a squatter in a vacant commercial building. That was not only recklessly irresponsible, it was also a flagrant violation of New York Housing Laws. As an upstanding corporate citizen, our firm could not become complicit with an employee's illegal conduct. We were planning to put him in touch with the Public Housing welfare people through our Employee Assistance Program but those things take time. Once the dust settled, you had already taken action and solved the problem."

"I didn't think anyone knew. Adam was desperate, I couldn't just walk away."

"Oh, but many people in this building, myself included, might have just walked away," said Herb, "It took great compassion to open your home to somebody in need. I would never ask for the details but I applaud the results. That young man probably has no idea how close he came to losing his job. If you hadn't stepped up, who knows how he would have fared, sleeping in a subway station?"

"Do other people know about that?"

"My career in the United States Navy taught me a thing or two about Human Behavior. I wouldn't give a rat's ass about who knows of this, nor would I care. We all have our critics and most of them are the insure cowards spreading rumors in hallways. The way I see it, you took personal responsibility for a coworker in need. That's huge. That's courageous. Nobody has any right to be critical."

Errol was sullen and little agitated. He left work immediately following the meeting and wondered through the galleries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. When he arrived home, Adam was already lying across his bed watching the evening news. "Pack your swim trunks, we are going on a company paid vacation to the Bahamas."

"Are you nuts? I can't," argued Adam, "the warehouse is short staffed and I'm the only one who can do export documents. Besides, wouldn't those mean people from Accounting get all bent out of shape knowing a Managing Curator was taking a trip with an Inventory Specialist?"

Confidently, Errol replied, "Get dressed, I'll explain everything over dinner."