"I QUIT"
Peter Parker: Spider-Man #166
Part Three
It was a beautiful fall day outside. The sun shone brightly, and the weather was unusually warm for October. Skies were clear, the crowds in the streets were bustling with excitement, and to any casual observer in New York, one could say that things were looking great.
That couldn't be farther from the truth though, in the publisher's office at the Daily Bugle.
J. Jonah Jameson Jr. stared outside, cigar in his mouth, door closed, door-curtains drawn, elbows propped up against the windowsill, and hands resting against his temples.
The latest circulation reports had just come in for the last month, and while he had done his best to keep morale high after seeing the declining circulation numbers over the last year, the numbers that he saw today were just too much.
He had decided a while ago that 2% drops on a month to month basis would be OK…but then after the month that had passed by, with a record high number of jobs lost and the unemployment rate surpassing 10%…he had dreaded today. And sure enough, the report that was sitting on his desk, abandoned, revealed this past month's drop:
10%.
Jameson had been known as, and prided himself on being, a loud, abrasive, go-getter who got things done, by hook or by crook. Because of this, he knew that half the workforce probably couldn't stand him. But deep down inside, he really did care for a lot of them. They worked hard for him, and it was a testament to the ability of the people and the team he Robbie Robertson had built over the last 20 years that the paper had continued to do so well over the last 3 years when publications were shutting down left and right, all across the city and country.
But now, it seemed even the Bugle was no longer immune.
And he was going to have to make a tough decision, and figure out how to do it while maintaining his "hard-ass" facade. Three hours ago, after receiving the report, he spent the first hour madly doing calculations on the notepad that now lay on his desk, abandoned, trying to think of numerous ways he could absorb this hit, but after an hour, he had accepted defeat and realized he was going to have to lay someone off. Then he spent the next hour after that pulling his list of employees and seeing if there were enough new employees he could convert to temps, perhaps institute a hiring freeze, perhaps cut the heating and electricity in the building, perhaps cut the page size, perhaps go all black and white, perhaps increase the ads, perhaps…give in.
And so, for the last hour, he had left everything on the table, pulled himself to the window, and grappled with the conclusion he had come to: the only way to get through this was that he was going to have to fire one of his reporters, without cause, for the first time in his history as publisher.
God dammit.
What's worse, it was going to have to be Farrell.
He really liked the girl and admired the seriousness with which she took the job (and of course, he wouldn't be caught dead letting her see or know that). Known as "Kat" around the office, she reminded him a lot of Urich when he had first started at the paper, and he recalled shortly after she put out the Human Torch piece that the man himself had started to give her mentoring and guidance, something which had allowed Jameson to see that she was "for real." The kid had done a great job of covering the "superhero beat" and had developed a nice little following.
The problem was that there was no combination of expenses he could cut, and no combination of employees below her that he could cut, that made up for the amount of savings he'd recoup if he let her go. For whatever reason, the compensation drop after Farrell on the list of salaries was huge, and the next person above her made about 30% more.
He tried to talk himself out of feeling guilty. "Ah, come on you sissy," he said out loud. "She's young. She's got her whole life ahead of her. She'll do fine. If you don't do anything this month though, next month if this keeps up, everyone, including you, will be in the same boat. You gotta do it."
"Do what, Mr. Jameson?"
"Whozzat!" Jonah jumped up, startled, and lunged for his desk as he quickly covered up the reports and his papers by throwing his body on them. He looked up to find Betty Brant, his former secretary and current investigative report, suppressing a giggle, and Jonah immediately snapped out of his depression.
"Miss Brant, haven't I told you to knock? You of all people should know this! You've been around here longer than anyone except Phil!" he yelled, trying to distract her as he slowly slid the reports under himself straight down into the trashcan underneath his table.
"Um…sorry sir…I, ah, actually had been knocking for the last ten minutes. I kind of got worried, so I walked in to make sure you were OK. I think you had your hands on your ears…"
"Well," Jonah harrumphed, getting his bearings back together as he moved off of his desk and straightened up, dusting himself off. "Even so, you know I work hard in here all day, thinking about how to make sure this paper keeps thriving in these rough economic times! You all should be thankful that a man like me is around caring so much about the welfare of all of you! Without me, God forbid, everyone might be out there shaking coffee cups, begging for change, playing crappy polka tunes, or even worse, painting yourself silver and doing strange robot dances! Don't you forget it, Miss Brant!"
She nodded, still trying to hide her smile.
"Well, what else did you come in here to bother me for? Get back to work if you've got nothing useful to say!" he demanded.
"Actually, Mr. Jameson, I uh, needed to talk to you privately. It's pretty urgent," she said.
Jonah pointed to the chair and narrowed his eyes. Is my day going to go from worse to hell?
He grabbed his cup of coffee, took a sip, made a face, and pointed at Betty. "Hold on. This coffee sucks."
She stood up and tried offering to get him a new cup, but she was too late as Jonah yelled at the top of his lungs, "MISS GRANT!"
Immediately, Glory Grant, Jonah's secretary, appeared out of nowhere, apologizing profusely as she grabbed the cup from Jonah and ran outside, then a minute later reappeared with a smoking new cup, and then ran outside again as she closed the door.
"Now," Jonah said gruffly, looking at Betty while adjusting his cigar. "Talk."
Betty sighed, looked down, and then she looked up at Jonah. "Mr. Jameson…I've been working for this paper for twelve years now, and you've been like a father to me. I can't thank you enough for everything you've done. But I have to tell you…"
She looked down again, and Jonah was now confused. He mentally reviewed in his mind if he had gone too much over the top any time as of late, and couldn't remember if he had…maybe she had been offended by the Nixon tie he had come in wearing one day…these damn liberal hippie kids-
"…I'm giving my two weeks. I've been offered a position somewhere else, and I've decided I'm going to take it."
Jonah's jaw dropped and the cigar fell to the floor. For a second, he gaped at Betty. Then he immediately recovered as he processed what she had said.
The decision he had been agonizing over for the last 3 hours had in fact, just been made for him.
Betty looked at him nervously, and he could see in her eyes that she was expecting him to go berserk, as she knew him better than anyone except his wife and Robbie, and had seen his outbursts over the years whenever he had been betrayed or felt that someone had abused his fierce sense of loyalty.
But for whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to go through that this time. He found it quite odd.
Jonah slowly moved down to pick up his cigar, put it in the ashtray on his desk, and then stood up and moved to the door and locked it. Betty looked behind her chair at him, confused.
"Stand up, Miss Brant," he said tonelessly.
She stood up, bewildered and almost frightened.
Jonah moved closer to her, and then stunned her (and himself) as he grabbed Betty in a fierce hug, and tears began pouring out of his eyes. Soon, he felt his arms becoming damp from what he could tell right away were the woman's tears. After a few minutes, they finally let go of each other and Jonah wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
"You'll be missed, Miss Brant," he finally said, and as she produced a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at her eyes, he looked down, smirking. "But our little talk here…as far as I'm concerned, this never happened."
"Agreed," she said, smiling, and then she opened the door and left Jonah to himself again, but not before closing it behind her per his request.
Jonah returned to his desk, and looked at all the paperwork in the trash. What a waste. He wasn't going to have to fire Farrell after all. But the irony. Betty didn't realize that by quitting, she had just saved the kid's job. Still, that made it no less easier to digest for Jameson.
He still couldn't stop feeling guilty.
