Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
The man spluttered for a couple of seconds before he finally said, “You can’t fire me. I don’t work for you. I work for the catering company.”
She glared at him. “Then they’re fired too.” Her eyes narrowed on him, and his face turned pasty.
As the man scuttled away, she sat in the empty chair next to Mrs. Greeley. “Are you all right? Here, let me help you.” She arranged Mrs. Greeley’s food in the appropriate spots on her plate and retrieved a clean fork from another place setting.
Across the table, one of Ava’s favorite ladies, Edith, punched her fist in the air. “You go, girl.” She grinned at Ava. “I’ve wanted to tell him where to get off for ages.”
“I’m so sorry this happened. But rest assured, you won’t have to put up with that kind of behavior anymore.” She’d spent a few more minutes with the two women, until Mrs. Greeley seemed calmer.
And now Ava had come back to more reports of the same kind of nastiness at other facilities.
She looked at Naomi. “Please get George Twisselman on the phone.” Her voice was tight, her anger still at a boil. The new president of Consolidated Catering was about to feel the brunt of it. Then she managed a smile for her assistant. “Thank you.”
Ava made personal visits to each of her retirement communities, senior living homes, and memory care facilities at least once a year. As CEO of Harrington Community Care International, with more than a hundred facilities in the US and now expanding globally, once a year was the most she could manage. But with her five Bay Area senior communities, she took one morning every other week to visit, wanting to keep in touch with the workings of each residence and getting to know the people living there.
And now, having been gone for several hours, and with Naomi’s usual efficiency, reports and letters to be signed had stacked up on Ava’s desk.
Her office wasn’t ostentatious, but large enough for her desk and credenza with two computer monitors, a sofa and two chairs for chatting with suppliers or clients, and a corner conference table. She also had her own bathroom, complete with shower, along with a closet of clothing in case she had to make a quick change. The furnishings were tasteful, though not overly expensive, but the view of the San Francisco Bay made the space spectacular, the sun sparkling on the water, the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge brilliant in the afternoon light.
Unfortunately, Ava wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the magnificent view.
Her office phone rang, and she rounded the corner of the desk to pick up the receiver. “Yes, Naomi?”
“I have George Twisselman on line two.”
“Thank you.” Ava switched over. “Hello, Mr. Twisselman.” She didn’t want to act the ballbuster and went for polite, rather than ripping him a new one the way a male executive could do with impunity. “Ava Harrington here, from Harrington Community Care International.”
“What can I do for you, Ava?” George said, skipping the more formal address she’d used with him.
She’d worked with Consolidated Catering for a couple of years for her San Francisco Bay Area needs, but George, the new president, had come in a few months ago. As he’d set about cutting costs, hours, and wages, people were leaving and he was hiring new. She’d discussed her concerns with George over all the new staff. “We’re transitioning,” he’d told her. “But we’re getting up to speed, and our menus will continue to surpass your standards.”
And that was true. There’d been no complaints about the food. She’d tried it herself, and everything was tasty.
But the attitude and behavior complaints were new. She needed to jump on the problem immediately.
“George,” she said sternly, “you assured me you had the new staffing situation under control. But your transition period is over, and it’s not working at all. I’ve had various reports from different facilities regarding the way some members of your staff have been treating our residents. I won’t tolerate such disrespect. What are you going to do about it?”
The ball was in his court. But he didn’t run with it. “As you know,” George said, his voice oily even over the phone, “our first consideration is providing adequate meals, which we do. We can’t be responsible for any touchiness your residents might feel. They’re older, and they get their feelings hurt over trivial things.”
“Excuse me?” Every molecule of her blood was boiling now. She could have blown her stack at him. But she’d discovered that a polite response was the better way to get what she wanted. If they were rude—like a man could be—women weren’t listened to. Even though she wanted to tell him to go pound sand, she said, “Telling one of my residents—or anyone for that matter—that she eats like a pig at a trough is not trivial. And I fired your man on the spot.”