Then Jake opened the next message. It was from Roland, the property manager who’d rented him his latest apartment. The apartment was the best place he’d ever lived, and it was greatly underpriced. Even Zach, who worked for a big startup in San Francisco, was impressed.
The message from Roland was titled:
Legal Notice re: Change in Rental Unit
Jake clicked on the link.
Hi Jake,
Hope you’ve been well. I’m sorry to bring bad news, but the owners of the condo you’ve been renting are planning to sell. They need the money to pay for their elderly grandmother’s nursing home bills, and they want you out right away.
By law, they have to give you 21 days’ notice, and unfortunately they can’t wait any longer than that. They also need to get in the unit to take photos, and once they publish the listing they’ll have potential buyers coming through to see it. We’ll need to plan some times for you to be out when that happens.
Again, sorry about the news. I know it’s been a great spot for you!
Roland Myers
Syndicate Leasing Group
Owing money he couldn’t afford to pay was bad enough, but not having a place to live was even worse. The message with twenty-one days’ notice was sent on Tuesday. It was now Friday afternoon, which left . . . what, eighteen days at the outset?
Before his brilliant speech in the client presentation, he’d been racking his brain trying to think of what to do. No obvious solutions presented themselves. Mostly, he just felt overwhelmed.
After the meeting, Jake slunk out to talk with his friend. “Preena! Why did you let Sloan do that to you?”
“What, steal my idea?”
“Yeah! I saw all those printouts on your desk. That whole thing about diving into the analytics came from you.”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “That wasn’t cool. But what was I going to do—start a fight in front of the client? He knew I wouldn’t challenge him. Anyway, how are you? You seemed a little off in there.”
Jake told her about the messages he’d finally gotten around to reading.
“That’s rough, Jake. I’ve got to get some client work done before I go to my next meeting, but let’s plan to talk about this more on Monday.”
“Of course.” On the way back to his desk he passed by Sloan’s office. He imagined him sitting inside, reading The Art of War and writing emails to management that recapped the client meeting with him in the starring role.
* * *
—
Working late that night and trying to build a better strategy for the client he’d disappointed, Jake didn’t notice his phone flashing a reminder to leave for the most important appointment of his day: a dinner date with Maya, his girlfriend. When he heard a chime that signaled a text message from her, he looked down.
“Hey, Jake, this place is cute! I got here a few minutes early and snagged a table by the window. See you soon!”
Soon was a highly optimistic prediction, but Maya didn’t know that.
“On my way!” he texted, grabbing his messenger bag and running for the door. In his mind he calculated the traffic: at least fifteen minutes, more like twenty at this time of day. Damn.
No big deal. It’s only our six-month anniversary.
Just like it was only $50,000 he owed, with less than $3,000 in his savings account. Just like all he needed to do was find a way to start paying that off, at the same time he was finding a new place to live.
On his way out, Jan flagged him down. “Hey, Jake, can we talk for a minute?”
“Uh, sure. I’m just late to meet Maya . . .”
“I’ll be quick. I’m a little concerned about you. With the merger coming up, management is going to be making some hard decisions.”
It wasn’t really a merger, though everyone called it that. Brightside had recently reached a deal to be acquired as part of a “strategic partnership” with a much bigger, East Coast firm.
So far the transition team from Philadelphia had visited Brightside’s SoCal headquarters twice, each time making noncommittal remarks while subtly judging the more laid-back style of dress and conversation on the West Coast. They’d promised to “respect the culture,” which, as Preena put it, meant that they planned to change everything about it.
“Try to step it up if you can,” Jan said as she signaled that he could go. “The next few weeks are going to mean a lot in terms of evaluations.”
Jake thanked his boss and walked outside, promising to improve. He almost expected to find that Sloan had slashed his tires.
His tires were fine, if a little worn on the twelve-year-old Mazda he’d been driving for six years. The best thing he could say about the day so far was that he didn’t get a speeding ticket while speeding to the restaurant. Still, by the time he arrived, he hadn’t come up with a way to pay down those loans or find a new place to live.
Maybe Maya would have an idea. He’d ask her—after he apologized for being more than thirty minutes late to their anniversary dinner.
2.
He may have been late, and he may have been frazzled. But when he sat down across from Maya, he forgot all about getting evicted from his apartment and nearly losing his job in the same day.
At least for the first thirty seconds.
“Welcome to the Thankful Bistro! How is your energy level tonight?” An incredibly enthusiastic server had appeared in front of him.
“Uh, fine . . . I think?”
“Excellent! What do you have to be thankful for today?”
Jake wondered what had happened to all those normal restaurant questions. Is tap water okay? Sure. Would he like to hear the specials? That would be great.
He looked at the server, who was wearing a name tag and a sticker on her shirt. The name tag read “Chyna.” The sticker had an image of a bee and read “Bee thankful.”
“Well, Chyna, today I found out that I owe $50,000 and I’m getting kicked out of my apartment. Oh, and I might lose my job. But otherwise, I’m good.”
That’s what he thought about saying. But instead he said, “Oh, uh, it’s fairly warm for November? Although I guess since we’re in California that’s not too unusual.”
Can we get this over with?
“Is that all you have to be thankful for?” Chyna gave him a wink and looked over at Maya.
Right. Of course.