Up & Out - Ariella Papa [73]
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You seem to know what to do.”
“I’m glad I give that impression.”
“You have no idea how on your side everyone is.”
“I think I have an idea.” The check comes and Janice insists on paying.
“It’s really not necessary.”
“C’mon,” she says. “It’s only right. When I was unemployed, people always paid my way. Just enjoy it.”
I let her pay.
15
Like a Feather
My “Already Gone” party happens on Thursday. I know I’ve gained a lot of weight, because none of my “going out” summer clothes fit me. The black capri pants that looked so good last summer when Esme was only a bunch of interstitials and I couldn’t afford to eat so much now stretch across my stomach and give me an icky camel toe. One of the mixed blessings of unemployment is that I will no longer be able to eat so much. I guess.
I should start working out, but gyms also cost money. Maybe I’ll get a Taebo tape. Maybe after this, I’ll never leave the house again.
But tonight I’m headed over to a commuter-friendly bar near Grand Central Station. It was picked because about half the people working at Explore! live in Connecticut and up-state. I settle on a drawstring peasant skirt and a sexy pair of sandals. They are higher than I would usually wear, so I’m certain that I will have blisters by the end of the night, and if given enough to drink, will perhaps fall flat on my face. (I hope my former colleagues will be kind enough to pick me up.)
I get a great turnout if I do say so myself—even some of the Programming hired guns show up. Everyone tells me how wonderful I look and I almost feel like I’ve just been cured of a terminal illness. Janice, John, and Jen smile benevolently as if they are bringing my goodness to the people. I know they have been providing little tidbits about my progress to the rest of the office.
Everyone is drinking and dissing the company with stories of how their budgets have been slashed, mean things Delores has said, and how much working for a television station that’s owned by a bank sucks.
Thanks to me, they are being forced to go to all these team-building human resources seminars. They start throwing out catchphrases in execuspeak. “Parking lot” seems to be a big one, as in, “We can’t talk about this right now, so let’s put this issue in the parking lot.”
According to Sarah from Programming, talking about “the hiring and firing policies” of the company is something that keeps getting put in the parking lot. “And the thing I hate about those human resources people is the way they always say your name,” Sarah goes on. “They can’t just say, ‘good idea,’ they have to say, ‘Sarah, that’s a great and pertinent comment, Sarah.’ They use your name constantly to fool you into thinking they’re actually listening.”
“Sarah, what an astute observation—you really got it, Sarah,” I say, getting the hang of it. She laughs. In all of the War Room meetings I went to with her, I never knew she had a sense of humor.
“I miss having people like you around. We are just going to turn into a dry company with people like Delores running the show.”
“Tell her what you found out,” Janice says when she comes up to us. She looks at me. “You’re going to love this.”
“Yeah, you’re never going to believe it.” I can tell Sarah is getting drunk because she grabs on to my sleeve. “So Delores is what, thirty-four?”
“I think so,” I say. I shrug at Janice, and she makes a face at the mention of Delores’s name.
“Well, my stepsister is about that age and went to Harvard. Since Delores finds it necessary to bring up her alleged alma mater in her every breath—”
“All the time,” Janice says, nodding emphatically. She is also getting drunk.
“Alleged?” I ask.
“Just listen,” says Janice, reveling in the knowledge I will soon get.
“So I start asking her if she knows my sister. For once she doesn’t go off on one of her long tangents.”
“Finally she decides to be curt,” Janice adds, growing even more excited.
“You don’t mind talking about her, do you?” Sarah asks, suddenly self-conscious.