TIP. Dave Gordon

would not be based on who was least deserving. It would be based on who was the best choice for the future of the organization.

      So, what was it that was going to sway the decision in his favor? What quality or little something was going to convince the current CEO, and the board of directors, that he was the one who should be trusted with the future of the company? When the talent is that even, the decisions always come down to the little things. The final decision usually rests on a feeling or an instinct. Emotion. Brian kept wondering, had he done enough?

He tightened the blue tie around his neck, gave it a final tug, looked at the dog, who was watching him from across the room, and proclaimed himself ready. The dog seemed impressed, but she chewed her own feet, so how much could he really count on her? He threw his suit jacket over his arm and headed down the stairs into the kitchen where Jen was having a cup of coffee.

      “Anything going today?” Brian asked as he poured himself a cup.

      “I have a buyer for the building on Third Avenue,” she replied.

      He nodded.

      Jen continued, “Drew’s got track practice till 6:30. Sara is studying at the library with the girl we can’t stand, but how much trouble can she get into at the library? Never mind . . . don’t answer that. And, Kyra is going shopping with me for dinner. We’ll all meet back home by 7:30 and whatever happens, we will all be together.”

      Brian smiled at the thought.

      “All three kids with us, eating together, at the same time?”

      Jen smiled back and gave him a hug.

      “Let’s just say that when it comes to special moments in life, I want to make it an experience,” she said.

      “I like the way you think, Mrs. Davis.”

      “Thought you might. If I’m not mistaken, you did remind me of the same kind of thing a while back. Now go out there and bring us home a CEO for dinner. And remember that no matter what happens, we love you. At least I do. I’m not really sure about the kids.”

Brian chuckled as he gave her a kiss goodbye. He maintained a smile as he turned to head out the door, not wanting to let on that deep inside, he was as nervous as he had ever been in his life. Win or lose, his life was going to change. Everyone around him was going to be affected.

      He called goodbye to the kids as he walked out the door and got into his car.

      Had he done enough? He would soon find out.

2 The TIP Jar

      As Brian made his way up the elevator and through the offices on the 36th floor, he tried to shake off the nervous energy he was feeling. Anytime there is a shake-up at the top of the organizational chart, there are bound to be changes that ripple throughout the company. One decision. Many changes.

      After getting to his office and listening to a few voicemails of “good luck” and well wishes while scrolling through the e-mails of the same nature from people who were aware that this was decision day, he finally stopped and clicked open the e-mail labeled TIP.

       TIP

       What’s in Your TIP Jar?

      If it’s overflowing with tips and you gave everything you could, then luck and well wishes aren’t necessary. Take pride in who you are, the way you communicate, your actions, and the unique value you bring every day. Remember all the people you have helped along the way. Whatever happens today is part of the plan.

Brian smiled. He looked at the glass jar sitting on the edge of his desk. At that very moment, the nervous feeling disappeared. All of the wasted worrying stopped. The pressure he put on himself to carry the load for others stopped. The thought of failure stopped.

      He stared at the glass jar and started to remember a time when he was at another kind of crossroads in his life, when he could have just as easily not taken his current path. He wondered what would have happened to him, his family, and all the people he helped along the way. What if he hadn’t been in that place 12 years earlier, at that moment? What if he hadn’t gotten the wake-up call he needed to become more accountable for his own success?

      Brian picked up the glass jar and held it in his hands, recalling the moment when his life was going in a very different direction.

Twelve Years Earlier . . .

3 A New Direction

      “You know, Bri-man . . . I think you’re a great guy, right?” The slurring words came out of Chris Conroy’s mouth.

      “And I really hate to be the one to tell you, but since you’re a great guy and all, I can’t let you walk in there tomorrow without knowing.”

      Brian stared intently at his director of sales.

      “The company is moving in a new direction, and unfortunately, they’re going to be letting you go. Word has it that it’s going to be about 10 from sales. I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you, but I thought you should know.”

      Brian tried to remain composed.

      “What the hell are you talking about?” he stammered.

      Chris Conroy just shrugged.

      “Can’t tell you much more than that. I just heard that a RIF is happening and 20% of the entire company is being let go.”

      “RIF?” Brian asked.

“Reduction in force. Company is in the red, and the higher-ups need to see profits in order to be attractive to potential buyers. So, they’re tightening their belts and letting go of anyone not considered valuable to the new direction.”

      Brian wanted to ask Chris so many questions. Why him? What new direction? What did he mean? Brian had never missed a quota in 10 years. Did they realize at 39 years old he had a wife and three kids to support? The knot in his stomach tightened, and he had the overwhelming urge to throw up.

      “What do you mean, a new direction?” was all Brian could ask.

      “Not sure what they mean,” slurred Chris. “All I know is, the big cheese is sending out an e-mail tomorrow, and if you’re on the list, you’re gone. The little cutie from HR who has a crush on me told me you were on the list. We’re supposed to have this conversation tomorrow after you get your e-mail, but I just thought you should know now . . .”

      “Are you on the list too?”

      Chris hesitated. “Umm. Well, no.”

      “So, what is this . . . a farewell drink? Is that it? Is that why you took me out tonight?” Brian’s voice was getting louder. “Firing me in a public place so I wouldn’t react?”

      “I’m sorry. I really think you’re a great guy. But the numbers just weren’t there. It was really close though. Quota unfortunately was the bottom of the scale . . . the minimum.”

      Before Brian could respond, the bartender came over and stood in front of the two men.

      “Seems to be getting a little loud in here for a Tuesday night. Everything okay?” he asked.

      “Everything’s fine,” Brian answered. “Just fine.”

“Good,” the bartender responded. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

      “No . . . actually I have to go,” said Chris. “Not feeling too good.”

      Chris slid off the bar stool and quickly grabbed his bag and coat. He gave Brian a quick pat on the back, as if to say goodbye, it will all be okay, no hard feelings, and please don’t hate me, all at the same time.

      “Just