Cranberry Red: A Novel

42. Budget Shortfall

Ben was back in his office the Monday following the field day at Shotgun Slogum’s cranberry bog. He whistled a little tune as he came though the office door and greeted Brittani, who was already hunched over her glowing computer screen. “Good morning, Brittani,” he said. “And what a fine morning it is. This autumn weather is outstanding.” “Just off the phone with Dr. Phillips. We’ve got a problem,” Brittani said with a serious tone to her voice. “What problem now?” asked Ben. With Brittani it seemed there was always some problem, some complaint to deal with—mostly from people feeling they were overcharged for Ben’s help. “We’re way off on our projected earnings,” Brittani responded. “How so?” said Ben. He remembered seeing the pile of papers that had come from headquarters in Oshkosh, a new pile every week it seemed. He vaguely remembered that one document was titled “Quarterly Projected Earnings.” He’d piled it on his inbox along with the other Osborne documents . He thought, If they want me to get something done, the least they could do is let up on the paperwork. But of course they didn’t. “Have you read our earnings report for the first quarter?” “Nope, haven’t had a chance,” Ben said. “Too busy.” “Well, here’s a copy and it’s not good.” She shoved the paper with its many numbers in front of him. 178 Budget Shortfall 42 179 Budget Shortfall Ben glanced at the number-filled sheet of paper. On the bottom of the sheet, he noted a line in boldfaced type: “Actual earnings are 50 percent lower than projected earnings.” “So, what does this mean?” said Ben, not accustomed to such detailed cost accounting. “It means we’re in trouble,” Brittani replied. “We’re not meeting our budget, and when we don’t meet our budget, we have some tall explaining to do. I had a heart-to-heart talk with Dr. Phillips.” Brittani had an I-know-things-that-you-don’t-know look about her. Ben could feel his blood pressure rising. He had known from the first day on the job that Brittani would be a problem. He didn’t like her; he was certain she didn’t like him, but he had decided to keep his mouth shut and do his job. Now she was once more acting like she was in charge of things, and besides that she had apparently gone around him to talk with his supervisor in Oshkosh. “Why are you talking about this with Dr. Phillips?” Ben asked, in a voice that was a bit too loud and probably threatening. Brittani, no shrinking violet, jumped up from her computer and stood toe to toe with Ben, which somewhat surprised him. He backed up a step. “Mr. Ben Wesley, I am the office manager and in charge of what goes on around here. You act like you’re the boss. You are not, you have never been, and you will never be. Oshkosh hired me as office manager, and I intend to manage, by God, whether you like it or not.” She had her hands on her hips and her eyes were flashing. Now it was out in the open. It was what Ben had suspected all along. This young thing who didn’t know beans when the bag was open thinks she’s in charge of this office. She doesn’t know a cranberry from a blueberry , wouldn’t know a Jersey cow from an Angus steer, couldn’t tell a John Deere from a buck deer, and she thinks she’s in charge of this office. “Dr. Phillips believes you are spending way too much time doing public service work and not enough time tending to business,” Brittani added. “She does, does she?” Ben said. “Well, let her tell me that.” “Oh, she will, Ben, she will,” Brittani said. “She said you’re too involved with planning this one-hundred-and-fifty-year cranberry celebration.” “Geez, I spend only a few hours a week doing that. Besides, it’s one of the most important things I do these days. These cranberry growers deserve some recognition and this is one way of doing it.” “Dr. Phillips said you’re too concerned with history and don’t spend enough time worrying about right now. Our job is convincing these...