“I don’t want to throw him under the bus,” he said. But he did. Throwing him under the bus is what he wanted. The man’s performance was not to his satisfaction and something needed to be done. Something decisive, something that made the message clear as long as the man didn’t hear it. In me he had the man’s replacement, and so he leaned toward me and cupped his hand.
His eyes darted left and right in case the man walked by, unaware of the bus that was coming, or that he was about to be thrown under it, and with such style.