We’re Going To Have To Let You Go

Daniel Kucin Jr.-Imagn Images Stephanie, you can send it in. Come on in. Thanks for coming all the way up on short notice, and, uh, sorry about the mess. I really should’ve saved Mr. Splash for later in the day. I’d never seen him fire that water gun in anger before, but he is remarkably accurate. Did you know he was a Green Beret? Anyway, have a seat. I have some difficult news for you. Oh jeez, I didn’t think about the tail feathers. You can stand, whatever. You can stand. So as you know, we have been forced to make some pretty substantial cuts. And believe me, it’s the last thing we want to do. We consider everyone who works here family. But there comes a time within any family when you have to identify your least productive family members, cut them out of your life forever, and leave them without any way to support themselves, at which point they’re not family anymore. They’re just strangers who know things about you that you’d rather not become public. Unfortunately, that includes you. Are – are you following any of this? We’re going to have to let you go. I realize that you’ve been with us for – wow – coming up on 50 years now, and I want to assure you that we are grateful for everything you have given to the Baltimore Orioles organization. You’ve brought happiness and joy to so many people. Unfortunately, it has been determined that keeping you on staff would be a suboptimal allocation of resources, because according to a report from this latest round of consultants – you know, I think you deserve to know the truth, so let me get my glasses so I can quote this accurately – “Happiness and joy don’t make the cash register go ka-ching.” So really, our hands are tied. Chirp. Hey, there’s no reason to get hostile! I’m sure you’re frustrated, but I’m just doing my job here. I’ve been firing people all day long. Photographers, graphic designers, salespeople, ushers, food and beverage, that lunatic with the garden hose. If you think the hot dog vendors are loud when they’re slinging frankfurters, try and imagine the decibel level when they’re in a confined space and they’re sobbing about how they’re going to afford their kid’s medication or whatever. So have a heart. Cheep. Now hold on. I’m not sure that’s fair. Yes, we’re in cost-cutting mode. But we’ve got some tough times coming up. The season was an embarrassment. Do you have any idea how many Rutschman jerseys we’ve got piled up in the warehouse in Towson right now? They’re costing a fortune in storage fees. And they’ve still got a pallet of Dean Kremer jerseys too, because I can’t even find a charity that’ll take those. And by the way, who knows when we’ll even play baseball again? We have no choice but to lock out the players when the CBA expires. I mean, I guess we don’t have to do that. We could keep everything going under the old CBA while we work out a new one, like we used to. The lockout’s a negotiating tactic, sort of like in a hostage movie where the first thing the cops do is cut off the power to the building just to make life as miserable as possible. Sorry, where was I? Cheep. Cheep cheep cheep. Right. We don’t really have a choice here. We’re just trying to get our ducks in a row. Uh, was that offensive? No offense. We don’t even know if there’s going to be a season next year, due to circumstances that are the direct result of our actions but are in a larger sense totally beyond our control. The only choice we have is to liquidate everyone whose job relates to having a baseball team that plays baseball. And then, if and when we decide to uncancel baseball, we’ll go back and fill those positions that turn out to be absolutely necessary to keep this whole thing from collapsing. Your job just might exist again! You might be able to get it back. I mean, you’d have to go through the interview process again, of course. Drug test, fitness exam, safety waiver, loyalty oath, blood ritual. And you’d definitely have to take a pay cut. No more benefits. I know you had that thing with your beak awhile back — anyway, I hope it’s better. But yeah, don’t think of this as an end. Think of it as a new beginning, plus an outside chance at a furlough followed by a massive pay cut. Tweet. Actually, before you hop on social media to vent, I’d advise you to take a close look at your non-disparagement agreement, because it’s fairly comprehensive. Technically, your nondisclosure agreement says that once you turn in your security badge, you’re not even allowed to open your mouth for six weeks. Probably wouldn’t hold up in court, but that’s what got Mr. Splash so riled up. Tweet, tweedly-tweet. First of all, it’s not even called tweeting anymore. I think it’s called X-ing. I’m not sure. Don’t hold me to that. But I wouldn’t try it, because let me promise you one thing: We sure as hell aren’t laying off any lawyers. Those pit bulls are still chained up out back and they are hungry. If you start spreading malicious rumors about this place – or even worse, accurately describing the working conditions – we will eat your ass for lunch. That came out wrong. Point is, stay off the socials. Technically, your NDA says you’re not even allowed to list this job on your résumé. I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to get contentious. You have no idea how painful this is for me. It’s the toughest part of my job. Now that I think of it, this is probably the toughest part of your job too. Hmm, worth considering. Then again, you had to deal with those disgusting children all day long. God, I bet that was torture. What do they even want with your autograph, anyway? You’re a frigging bird. It probably decreases the value of the paper you scribble it on. So anyway, I guess what I’m saying is that this is the toughest part of my job, but it’s only one of the many tough parts of your job, so maybe stop and take a second to think about how I feel. Chirrup? Exactly. Things aren’t so bad. I’m sure you’ll land on your feet. Or, I mean, I guess you don’t really even have to, what with the wings. But I’m sure there are lots of places out there that would love to hire a bird in a baseball hat. Oh, sorry, forgot, we’re going to need the baseball hat. Company property and all. Yeah, the cleats and the stirrups too. And it could be worse, you know. Did you know the Braves refer to their HR department as “Human Capital?” Even the consultants thought that was gross, and the last report they turned in said we should turn the handicap spaces in the parking lot into a bear baiting ring. I guess it’s making a comeback. Remember, it’s not just you. We’re firing so many people. Really great ones too. You’re in excellent company. Surely, that’ll make you feel better. On behalf of the entire organization, I’d like to thank you for your service and ask you to exit the premises immediately. You can leave the door open; I’ve got one more thing to do. Stephanie, could you please come in here and have a seat? I have some difficult news for you.