Charles
Hoffelt sat at his desk looking over McBurger’s financials for the quarter. His
office sat on the 78th floor at the northeast corner of the Empire
State Building and often he liked to take in the bird’s eye view of the city at
four in the afternoon, but today he was concerned by what he felt were the
company’s rising labor costs. Business was good, and profits were steadily
increasing, but his end of the year bonus couldn’t handle the weight of rising
labor costs.
He
pushed a button on the black intercom that sat on his desk. “Ms. Terrien,” he
said, “can you come in here please?”
The
etched glass door to the office opened and a blond woman in her late twenties
dressed in a conservative pants suit, carrying a yellow legal pad, walked in.
“Yes, Mr. Hoffelt?” she asked.
“How
much do you think I make a year, Stephanie?” Charles asked her.
“I
don’t think, sir,” Stephanie said. “I’m your assistant, it’s part of my job to
know how much you make.”
“How
much do I make then?”
“You
make $8.75 million annually before bonuses, sir.”
“And
how much do our employees make?”
“The
annual wage of our employees varies, sir, but entry level wage at the franchise
level is $7.25 an hour. Most entry level employees work anywhere from twenty to
thirty hours a week. So on the high end our entry level workers make
approximately $11,310 an hour.”
“That
much?” he asked. He looked at her for the first time since she entered the
office. He laid the budget down on the desk. “I thought it was less than that.”
“It
was, but there was a minimum wage increase recently. Despite the increase, many
of our employees find that the wage leaves them in poverty.”
“There
are government programs to assist with that, though, aren’t there?”
“Yes
sir, but the employees feel that even after government assistance they are far
below the poverty line.” Stephanie sat down in a chair across the desk from Charles.
“Recent company-wide surveys indicate that many of our employees are
particularly worried about the coming holiday season. They’re struggling to
provide for their families as it is, let alone handling the traditional holiday
requirements.”
Charles
leaned back in his chair. “Stephanie, what is our motto here at McBurger?”
“Better,
faster, cheaper.”
“If
we raise employee wages, how would we be able to keep that motto?”
“I
don’t have the answer to that, sir, but at the current wages our employees can’t
even afford to buy our own food.”
Charles
leaned forward. “Our employees aren’t buying our food?”
“They
can’t afford it, sir.”
“That’s
a travesty.” He stood up and turned to the window. “Profits are up, but profits
obviously aren’t where they could be.” He stroked his forehead then ran his
hand through his hair. “Stephanie, can you get Jim on the line for me?”
“Jim?”
“Oh
I forgot, sorry,” he said, turning around, “you don’t know Jim. Representative
Jim Eldridge.”
“The
Congressman?”
“Yes,
we’re old golfing buddies. I think he can help us out here.” Charles sat back
down at his desk. “If you look through my directory you should find several
different numbers for him. Use his cell phone. Congress is in recess and I
doubt he’ll be in his office today.”
“Yes
sir.” Stephanie stood up from her chair and exited the room.
Charles
picked up the budget and looked over it again, shaking his head. It was only a
few minutes before the phone rang. He picked it up.
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