“You’re fired.”
	
    I was holding a big green bag of ‘Sweet and Salty Snack Mix’ (too big for anyone), and went numb in the throat. “Wait, what?”
	
    The manager, Mr. Ware, held up his hands.
	
    “Before you say anything,” he began after a fermata, “I want you to know that this has nothing to do with your [i]performance[/i]. We’re [i]good[/i], as far as I’m concerned,” he indicated, motioning back and forth with his hands. “That mix-up in the warehouse last week—I know we talked about it, but it’s not even a blip,” he informed with a wriggling smile. “Look… I’m not going to lie, I’ve been a general manager for twelve years, and the kind of reliability you bring—” he said, retarding the tempo, and putting his hand on my shoulder—“that to me is so much more important than a miscommunication over one of the displays.”

    “Then why am I fired?” I asked.
	
    “All I can tell you is someone stopped by my office this morning with Eureka cards.”
	
    I reeled back. “Someone’s trying to terminate me?!” I said, raising my voice inadvertently.
	
    “That’s all I can tell you,” he repeated.
	
    We stood quiet as customers came and went through the automatic doors; he wouldn’t evict me by force. I grabbed my wallet and yanked out two scribbled cards and pushed them into his palm—he put them in his pocket without looking at them.
	
    “You have the most beautiful blue eyes,” he said thoughtfully. 
	
    The Eureka Card Game (hereafter ‘ECG’), I should mention, is the core of workplace culture at Dollar Squadron. As indubitably as the Moai look to sea, so we associates turn to the vision of our middle management and its incentive program, not knowing from where it comes and caring only for the tiny island to which the vastness of its expanse seems to lead.
	
    It began as a lottery. When an associate (hereafter ‘Retail Artist’) was recognized for an outstanding action—say, receiving a good survey—they were awarded a card which became part of a draw, the winner receiving fifty dollars added to the next week’s paycheck. Recently, however, Dollar Squadron has turned to this program to help stave off a union, and created the ECG—a game where Eureka cards can be saved and submitted for prizes, including:
	
    2 cards—one compliment from the manager of your choice
    100 cards—leave your shift an hour early, no questions asked
    500,000 cards—terminate a non-managerial employee of your choice
	
    My mind began to race. There was nothing I could do about being targeted, but I wanted to know who had done it--had it been the old man who worked in the warehouse, Mr. Proletariat? I did sometimes get short with him when he couldn’t keep up with me during truck deliveries. But, I must have been one of his last friends. In March we drove out to the countryside and took photos together.
	
    Or perhaps it was Mrs. Heinz, the fat touchy-feely operations supervisor, who was not technically a manager, and therefore eligible for the game. She disliked me at first. I had a habit of making a mess in the aisles as I was working, but one day she began to call me her “favorite”. I brought her some blueberry muffins one morning. I’ve moved to inventory, though, and lately we’ve been at loggerheads trying to wrest fair staffing from one another. 
	
    “I’ve got cards of my own,” I told Mr. Ware, after the waiting had gone on long enough. It was true. Retail Artists are allowed to write their own Eureka cards, provided they sign their names with ‘LLC’. Admittedly, I spend hours every night with a little black and white television, writing the things out and tossing them behind me like a big refuse pile. 
	
    He raised an eyebrow. “You got cards? Enough to veto a termination?”
	
    “Five-hundred-thousand,” I answered like a military man. “I’ll bring the pickup to work tomorrow.”
	
    Mr. Ware made a sidelong glance, already onto his next business. “All right, cool. Well, I’ll let you get back to your shift. Let me know if you need anything.”
	
    He went back to his office. I went back to my Sweet and Salty, and surmised that is must have been Mrs. Pickens. We didn’t know each other very well, but I remembered some tossed cookies, and some people just don’t like you, anyway.
	
    And she left an hour earlier than she was supposed to.