Cassandra
A dreary morning.
Rain pattered steadily against the window, staining the gray streets beyond an even deeper shade of gloom.
"Well, at least I don't have to sit in front of a computer all day for once. That's something."
Even as the bus swayed, Cassandra remained wholly absorbed in curling her lashes from the seat beside me.
The twelve of us—myself and Cassandra included—were riding the company bus out for volunteer work, and by pure coincidence the destination was the old neighborhood where I used to live.
Our assignment for the day was simple enough: spend half a day helping with odd jobs at the local nursing home, then hand out snacks to passersby so the residents would know we were out doing community service.
"Yeah."
I had no desire to keep the conversation going, so I turned my gaze back out the window.
Those once-so-familiar gray streets now felt strangely foreign, and my mood sank for no good reason. Of all places, it had to be here…
I tried to lift my spirits by thinking of Luca, who was probably still lost in his morning nap at the company daycare.
…When I get home today, I should make him a mobile. Oh, maybe I could film my first video with that?
Among all the mobiles I'd looked up online, the prettiest one was made of pastel-toned felt—plump moons and stars and clouds all mixed together.
Thinking about the future instead of chewing over the days I'd left behind in this neighborhood soon made me feel better.
"By the way, this company vest design hasn't changed in years. It's so tacky…"
A disgruntled mutter floated up from the seat behind us.
We still had about thirty minutes until we arrived, so I slipped in my earphones and closed my eyes.
Half past nine in the morning.
The staff posted outside the pamphlet nursing home gathered under the awning for cookies and coffee.
Crunch.
"Whoa, just like the other day—Jun, you really made these cookies? They're better than the store-bought ones."
"For real. I totally thought you'd bought them."
I gave a thin smile.
"You think so? That's a relief. Honestly, if I could, I'd love to do this as a side hustle."
"Side hustle's good. But shouldn't the company just raise our salaries so we don't have to think like that? Cost of living goes up every year and our pay stays exactly the same…"
We whiled away the idle time with idle talk of that sort.
The rain that had been coming and going since dawn still refused to stop for good—whenever it seemed ready to clear, it started up again.
If only there had been more residents walking by, it wouldn't have felt so boring…
The outdoor cleaning had finished ages ago, and we were supposed to be handing out pamphlets, yet no one came or went.
"Ugh, what are we even doing every year? We'd be better off just pooling money and donating it."
Standing around outside with nothing to do, the damp, vaguely cold late-winter air soon silenced everyone.
Arms crossed, I was just thinking I might fall asleep on my feet when a sudden commotion rose in the distance.
It looked like a demonstration of some kind.
"What's that? Someone go check. Or should I just go look myself?"
One of the staff, curiosity piqued by the boredom, half-rose from his seat.
From the nursing home set a little back from the main road we couldn't see clearly, but the red-and-blue flash of police lights that suddenly started and the general racket made it look like the suppression of a forceful protest.
Like people watching a fire across the river, the eyes of everyone on our side lit up.
I, on the other hand, felt not the slightest interest.
Any forceful protest is the same, but especially in this neighborhood, whatever could spark one was bound to be nothing pleasant.
Besides, getting swept up in it wouldn't do anyone any good…
When I turned away with an indifferent look, the rest of the staff left me behind and went off to gawk anyway, abandoning the booth.
"We'll just check what's going on and come right back! Jun, watch the booth!"
"Sure. Take your time."
I let out a sigh.
It couldn't have been more than a few minutes before my colleagues returned, chattering about what they'd seen—and of course it was nothing pleasant.
The protest, they said, was over the redevelopment of part of the residential area.
I'd half expected it. Every plot of land around here was old. And just because redevelopment had been announced didn't mean everyone living here could simply abandon their homes the way I had and leave.
I was glad Greg and Maria weren't with us today.
They both knew I'd lived in this neighborhood until only recently; if they'd been here, the atmosphere would have turned awkward in more ways than one.
But Cassandra and the rest of the staff, having been thoroughly bored, treated it like the most entertaining thing they'd seen in ages and kept the gossip going.
"But wasn't that a little excessive force just now? The protesters themselves didn't seem all that aggressive."
"Right? I actually filmed that scene earlier—shouldn't we report this?"
"Maybe it's better not to stick our necks out? It's already a sensitive topic…"
"No way—this is exactly when we need to spread the word! How lonely a fight do you think those people are fighting right now?"
And right then and there, Cassandra uploaded the video she had taken to her SNS.
"……"
I thought it might have been better to tip it to a newspaper or broadcaster rather than her personal account, but I didn't bother arguing.
Anything I said to her would have been useless anyway.
Especially the next day, when that post racked up a solid view count and she sat around chatting with the other staff about how she had "widely publicized the unjust excessive force," I was glad I hadn't added a single word.
But a few days later a problem erupted that had nothing to do with my personal feelings on the matter.
A single photo of Cassandra filming the controversial video while clearly wearing a vest with our company logo printed on it appeared on a community board.
That was the sort of title attached to it. And another video began drawing heavy attention on an SNS platform.
In an instant the clip spread far and wide under the caption "Big-company employees watching the fire from across the river."
The fact that our company was nowhere near big enough to be classified as a conglomerate, and that the staff out on volunteer duty that day were underpaid rank-and-file workers, didn't matter in the slightest.
Not long after, Cassandra was notified of a recommended three-month leave of absence from the company.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
The wall clock, built for the sole purpose of telling time, filled the small office with its sound.
Seated at the desk in the middle of the narrow room was a middle-aged man with a tired face; his name was Mark.
The half-bald brown hair and the square gold-rimmed glasses perched on his broad nose made him look even older, and the way he sat—so perfectly matching the image of a difficult boss from the movies—made me tense for no real reason.
Mark Gonzalez, who'd been in HR for quite a while. I hadn't seen him often since the hiring interview.
He was the man I faced once a year at performance-review time for the meeting we called a "salary negotiation" that was really just a "salary announcement."
Anyway, because I had gone out on that same volunteer day with Cassandra, Manager Rachel had shoved me forward so that I now stood beside her in front of him.
It was unfair, really. I hadn't gone anywhere near the scene and hadn't been caught in a single photo. And my standing here wouldn't stop Mark from saying whatever he was going to say…
Mark seemed to think the same thing.
"Why'd two of you show up? This meeting's nothing special. Cassandra just needs to sign this paper."
He smiled as he looked past Cassandra at me.
One side tells you to go, the other side asks why you're here… Rank-and-file company life is tough.
But I never got the chance to answer.
"Mark, this is completely unfair!"
Cassandra's voice, thick with grievance, burst out.
Mark only lifted the corners of his mouth in a smile.
"Have a seat, Cassandra. It's been a while."
With a somewhat weary smile he gestured to the chair across from him.
Once she sat down, fuming, he continued in a voice that had grown a shade harder.
"Cassandra. Company regulations allow us to dismiss anyone who harms the company image. But this isn't a dismissal, so isn't that a relief?"
"Being told to take unpaid leave is hardly different from being fired, is it?"
Whether he'd already gotten an earful from higher up or not, Cassandra's lack of cooperation carved deep lines into Mark's forehead. He looked thoroughly exhausted.
"There's still a clear difference. We're giving you the chance to come back after the disciplinary period."
At the word "disciplinary," Cassandra's face stiffened. Seeing her expression, Mark seemed to realize he'd misspoken and hurriedly added,
"In ordinary cases, that is."
"…So I harmed the company, and I should be grateful that you're giving me a chance to return?"
Tears were already welling in her eyes as she trembled and spoke.
Mark answered with a look of pure exhaustion and a silent nod of affirmation.
"Mark, I've worked here for seventeen years! From the time I was twenty until now—seventeen whole years!"
Cassandra's wail must have carried outside the office. The footsteps of people hurrying along the corridor stopped.
Mark rubbed his temples and answered.
"I know, Cassandra. I interviewed you, after all."
"You raise my salary by a pittance, there's no sign of a promotion, and still I worked quietly! And you just cast people aside this easily? You know I didn't really do anything wrong!"
As Cassandra shook with rage, Mark let out a long sigh, glanced over the papers in front of him again, and went on.
"That's exactly why you shouldn't have filmed that video and posted it on SNS. The other employees only got warnings. The decisive reason you're being disciplined is that video."
Uploading a video that raised suspicions of excessive force was something any citizen could reasonably do.
But perhaps she felt a twinge of guilt over how she'd gone around excitedly recounting her own heroics for a while afterward; Cassandra fell silent for a moment.
Still wearing that bland expression, he looked at her and said,
"And you know it too, don't you? Sitting here yelling at me won't change a thing."
"But this is unjust! Is this how a company treats a long-serving employee?"
In the end Mark looked at her as if she were pathetic and shot back,
"Don't talk about your seventeen years here like you've accomplished something great. The fact that you stayed all that time even though you were unhappy with the company's treatment only means you had nowhere else to go, doesn't it?"
"…What did you just say?"
Yet for all that life had sharpened him, he was not a bad man down to the roots. Looking at Cassandra, whose mascara was now running in black tears, he soon continued as if resigning himself.
"Cassandra. There are no fools here. You, me, every single person on this floor listening to this conversation right now—we all know exactly what's happening."
His voice was heavy with weariness.
"And stepping forward to take your side means accepting that the consequences might fall on yourself. But Cassandra,"
He scrubbed his dry face with both hands and went on,
"we all have families. No one can take your side. …You don't actually want to get fired, do you?"
At last Cassandra broke down crying. She probably hadn't wanted to either.
"I… I have a child too… I can't get kicked out of here…"
She sobbed.
"I know. That's why you've hung on. If you'd been alone, you'd have gotten sick of it and gone somewhere else long ago…"
Mark sighed for what must have been the umpteenth time, then spoke firmly again.
"But if you keep rejecting company policy and making a scene here, you really will be treated as someone who harmed the company."
He spoke decisively, scanned the papers once more, and signed his approval on her leave form. Then he turned the document around and set it in front of her with a pen.
"Don't do that. If you do, then even if you interview at another company and the interviewer calls me for a reference check, I won't be able to say anything good about you."
No matter how low the pay, and no matter how well you interview, your reputation at your previous company has a huge impact on getting hired.
If Cassandra left this place on bad terms, landing another ordinary office job would become extremely difficult for her.
"Three months. Just rest for three months. You lasted seventeen years. Hang on three more months and come back."
It could have been called encouragement, yet I couldn't help thinking it was a truly bleak thing to say.
She had endured seventeen years of mediocre treatment only to be cast out like this, and now had no choice but to return because she had nowhere else to go.
As Cassandra stared blankly at the pen in front of her, Mark pressed it into her hand.
"I know this is hard right now, Cassandra. I know. I've worked here twenty-three years and done this more times than I can count."
She lifted her head and looked at him.
Not a single tear showed between the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, yet his pupils held a dry sorrow, something like resignation.
"You probably resent me. I never thought I'd spend my whole life doing this either. But I can't quit, and you can't stop here either. Sign it, Cassandra."