“I regret to inform you that you have been let go due to your invisibility.”
Involuntarily, my jaw dropped. Not that anyone could see it happen. Martha Hill, bank manager, sat across from me uncomfortably. She was in her early thirties, with dark hair and a not unpleasant face. I thought her to be young for the position but having worked with her now for a year, I knew her to be intelligent and confident. Next to her sat one of the bank’s attorneys, Theresa Montoya, whose presence had been my first sign that this meeting might not go my way. There were a lot of paths that this conversation could take from here, each competing to see which would get the chance to thoroughly ruin my life further.
Theresa spoke up after a minute or two of silence. “We understand that this comes as a bit of a shock.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably and glanced around the empty space of the chair in front of her, probably wondering the same thing I was. What do my hurt and disappointment look like?
“Yes, of course,” I replied, putting them both out of their uncertain misery. Thankfully, logic and reason came out as the damage control that silenced all of the unprofessional ways I could handle this situation. “I am disappointed that it’s come to this. My performance has been without complaint, and I am well liked by my coworkers and clients. This feels like discrimination.” I hated the word as soon as I said it, but given the circumstances how could it be anything else? And hadn’t they said that it was my condition that was directly the cause of my termination? “I have a disability; you can’t fire me because of that.”
Theresa was ready for me. “You have a right to pursue recourse in this matter. However, this is unprecedented in a labor law environment. One could argue that given the general understanding that invisibility grants an advantage, it cannot be considered a disability. It’s certainly not covered by the ADA.”
“You’re joking, you think this makes my life any easier?” My face pinched and tightened in frustration. Does it matter what my face was doing? Never mind. Theresa shrugged in response with an apologetic look. What do I look like when I’m sorry?
“Plenty of super heroes have the power to be invisible in the movies, a very strong case could be made here.” Martha’s comment was met with a disapproving side look from Theresa, no doubt calculating the legal risk of the words both said. Martha dutifully ignored her. “Besides, we have made reasonable accommodations for your case.”
I couldn’t deny the bank had approached this with empathy. Over the last few weeks, they had transitioned all my meetings into virtual options. A head shot that I had taken before my unfortunate condition served as my visual representation. Most of my customers weren’t even aware of the development and their questions were explained away by citing faulty equipment. Around the office, I was identified by a bright red balloon that always remained tied to my waist. “The fact is that being invisible poses a significant risk for the bank and you can understand our stakeholders’ and customers’ concerns at having someone with your condition on staff.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Theresa was ahead of me. There was no way she could have known I was about to speak. “Our decision on this matter remains firm and was handed down from the very top. You’ll find we have a generous severance in place for you, and we will provide glowing recommendations for your next opportunity.”
I imagined being a line item on the Board of Directors’ meeting agenda. At least you could see a line item. I wondered how long they had discussed the matter of a banker who was now invisible. What would I look like while making such a decision? Would my eyebrows crease? Where would my eyes look while I made that life changing call for someone else? I made a point of sighing out loud so they could hear my derision.
“We’ve taken the liberty of collecting your things and security is waiting outside to escort you from the building. I trust that you will be cooperative. The bank thanks you for your years of service and wishes you luck in your future endeavors.” There was a rehearsed finality in Theresa’s voice, and I spent a moment studying both women. Martha’s soft green eyes were not looking directly at me, but slightly above me where my balloon bounced gently in response to the cool central air in the room. Theresa had an angular jaw that was set with determination, and I imagined what her smile might look like on Christmas Day as she watches her grandchildren tear into their gifts and gives her husband a kiss on the cheek. I hoped I would see my smile again one day.
I rose without a word and exited the room, greeted the security guard with a grunt and, with agitation, liberated my things from his thick, hairy arms. He was just a hair shorter than I, he had large, bushy eyebrows that obscured his eyes enough to make it look as if he was squinting. As I made my way toward the exit, I heard his unhurried steps follow behind. My balloon excitedly jumped with my steps and when I reached the door the security guard quickly stepped in front of me to hold it open. I muttered a thank you and walked through, the balloon hit the top of the door frame and was leaning far from me as I stepped out into the street.
