Chapter 2: Musical Chairs

I hadn't even reached my own cubicle when I spotted Jason from Admin heading into the boss's office.

Jason—always hustling with wireless earbuds jammed in, fiddling with his phone like he was closing some big Wall Street deal instead of ordering copy paper. As we passed in the hallway, he shot me a half-smirk, like he already knew the punchline to a joke at my expense.

An hour later, HR blasted a company-wide email.

To mitigate "potential risks," they announced, the tenure for the "high-risk role" of Purchasing Manager would be capped at five years. Effective immediately, Mike (me), Purchasing Manager, and Jason, Administration Manager, would swap jobs.

The subject—"Organizational Restructuring: New Opportunities"—made my stomach drop. There it was, in cold HR-ese: my fate, signed, sealed, and BCC’d to everyone. I couldn’t help but let out a short, bitter laugh as I read it.

Not long after, Jason sauntered over, beaming.

"Manager Mike, the boss wants us to do a handover. You got time now?"

I’d known for months that Jason had been bugging the boss, bragging he’d work for less and do a much better job than me.

He was the type to sidle up to the CEO at the holiday party, craft beer in hand, making a show of how he’d do anything for the company—"even take a pay cut!" Sure, buddy.

Let’s be honest: that’s just code for "I’m here for the kickbacks."

Not that the boss cared. As far as he was concerned, whoever filled this seat would be on the take anyway. Jason wanted the job for the perks, not the paycheck—so at least the company would save on salary.

It was like the whole system was rigged, everyone winking at each other across the conference table. I could almost hear the silent agreement: Just don’t let it blow up in public.

Getting that email left me stunned.

I stared at my screen, hands hovering over the keyboard, thinking about all those late nights, the spreadsheets, the vendor negotiations. Every time I’d stuck my neck out, only to be quietly pushed aside.

Jason had always been polite to my face. I figured he just wanted to push sketchy suppliers on me—which I always rejected.

Now that he’d won, he couldn’t hide his glee.

He swaggered in, flashing that used-car-salesman grin—the kind that makes you double-check your pockets.

"Manager Jason, there’s a lot to cover in Purchasing. I still need to get things organized. Let’s set aside some time next week for the handover, just to make sure nothing slips through the cracks—"

He cut me off before I could finish.

"Manager Mike, you don’t want to move to Admin, do you? What mistakes could there be in a department that just spends money?"

He leaned back in my chair, arms folded, smirk wide. You could see he’d been waiting to gloat for months. I could practically hear him thinking, "Let’s see you wriggle out of this one."

"Since Manager Jason says so, I can do it anytime."

"Great, let’s get it done right now."

Didn’t expect him to be so eager.

I led him to my office, scooping up my battered mug and a pile of vendor files. The AC rattled overhead, drowning out the hum of Slack notifications and the smell of someone’s microwaved lunch from the break room. Jason absentmindedly scrolled through his phone, probably checking his fantasy football league while I walked him through the purchasing process and introduced our key suppliers.

He nodded along, already bored. I pointed out the landmines—dodgy vendors, tricky logistics, the need to double-check every contract. He barely looked up.

Worried he’d blame me if anything blew up, I drew up a detailed handover checklist, printed it, and slid it across the desk. "Manager Jason, if you’re good with the handover, just sign here and I’ll move to Admin."

He didn’t even read it. Just scribbled his name with a Sharpie, tossed it back, and started packing up his own office.

As his marker scraped the page, it hit me: to him, this was just another trophy. The process didn’t matter—just the keys to his new kingdom.

I packed up my stuff—a cardboard box full of pens, faded Post-Its, and my lucky stapler—and headed to Administration. The other purchasers gave me that awkward half-smile, the one you give a guy who’s just been benched.