My Life as an Extra

by Ruth Kaufman

  I did it! I just quit my job.

  VIH screams, “Take it back! Take it back! It’s not too late. You can say, ‘Just kidding.’”

  Every muscle trembles, but I stand my ground. Quitting is what I want to do. It’s what I’ve truly wanted for a long time. Devotion to my job hasn’t gotten me where I want to go.

  I’m so tired of being chicken. Of listening to the contrary, negative voice in my head. I’m ready to start trusting my gut. I can’t let my passions stay in the back seat one day more. Strains of the Les Mis song start floating through my mind, encouraging me onward. Time to start devoting my energies to myself and what makes me happy.

  I feel like my life has been building toward this moment, when I’d finally have the courage to take it into my own hands.

  When I’d finally have the courage to say the words, “Yes, Brenda. I quit.”

  I’ve done it. I’m free.

  She reads in a monotone from her laptop. “After submitting your signed letter of resignation to management, leave your laptop and any other Barnaby Broadcasting supplied items, including but not limited to pens, mugs, customer files and office supplies, at WZRJ/WBRJ’s local offices. Your last paycheck and any outstanding commissions will be forwarded to your place of residence on file with Barnaby Broadcasting’s Human Resource Department. Your past efforts to make Barnaby Broadcasting best in its class are appreciated. Best wishes for your successful future.”

  John’s, Liz’s, Stan’s, Christi’s and my mouth drop open.

  “They knew the new Weekly Detailed Success Report would make someone quit,” Liz screeches. “They did this on purpose to force some of us leave. So they can hire new AEs and pay them less. Or have fewer AEs and make them work harder with more accounts but less commission.”

  “You’d think the company would appreciate our experience and knowledge of the clients and marketplace,” John says. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Brenda rubs her lips together like she’s smoothing out her lipstick. “I shouldn’t tell you, but I will. I think you deserve to know what’s up. It’s because of Amber Dacosta-Weigle.”

  “Amber? Isn’t she number one in the country now?” I’m sure her name floated atop the NLL, National Leader Ladder, last time I checked. I’d been number twelve.

  Only the Top 10 get a cash bonus and the trip. That’s why I’d needed Nicole’s root beer/ice cream deal. To climb another rung or two on our highly-publicized internal Ladder.

  “She was. Until she got fired,” Brenda reveals.

  Just like that, I’d have moved up to AE eleven. But I need concern myself with Barnaby ladders and demands no more.

  We lean forward as one. This is bound to be the best gossip we’ve heard in a long time. I can’t wait to tell Catherine all that’s transpired this afternoon.

  “Apparently Amber decided she was so far ahead of her goals, she didn’t have to work,” Brenda explains. “Several clients tried to reach her, but couldn’t. Her manager got involved and found Amber. On a beach in Cancun, getting a massage. Amber hadn’t obtained vacation approval, she just took off. For two weeks.”

  In an odd way, I see Amber’s point. If she’s making good money and is far above quota, why work harder? The better any of us does, the higher they’ll raise our goals next year.

  Does an eye for an eye apply when your employer treats you poorly? Or does the fact that an employer pays well and offers good benefits mean employees are obligated to give their all no matter what the company does? Do any large companies care if their employees feel downtrodden and demoralized? Or should we be grateful to have a secure job?

  “Management makes all the other AEs in the country suffer because of one rich, lazy bitch?” Stan leans against the doorway, holding his laptop up like a cocktail tray. A white piece of paper sits on top. “Not me. Not Stan the Man. My resignation.”

  He flings the letter toward Brenda as if it’s a paper airplane. She catches it between both hands with a loud clap.

  My righteous rebellion is contagious.

  Brenda licks her lips and takes a deep breath. “Did you hear what I told Marla or should I read the memo again?”

  She’s not even going to try to stop either one of us.

  “I heard,” Stan says.

  Christi asks, “Where will you go? What will you do?” She sounds for all the world like Vivien Leigh as Scarlett when Clark Gable’s Rhett is about to leave her at the end of Gone with the Wind.

  Stan’s not nearly as debonair as Rhett. He says, “I’m getting the fuck outta here. That’s all I give a shit about right now.”

  Stan turns and marches away.

  “Bye-bye, Stan,” Christi says. “Have a nice life,” Christi calls.

  Our manager’s face reveals nothing.

  Tapping the letter on the conference table, Brenda looks at the four of us and narrows her eyes. “Who’s next?”

  No one answers.

  I’m drowning in a mixture of euphoria and panic.

  Leap and the net will appear. I’m leaping.

  Chapter 19

  “I quit,” I repeat. “I actually quit.” I can’t believe I had the guts to do it.

  Christi, John and Liz follow me back to the cubes, where Stan is yanking papers out of his file drawer.

  “Where will you go? What will you do?” Christi, obviously.

  “I’m not sure,” I say. For the moment, yawning uncertainty doesn’t bother me. I’ll savor the pride I feel at taking charge of my life. “Take a few days off and relax, then figure my career out. I know I’m doing the right thing.”

  Liz lowers her voice. “I’m stepping up my search. I’m gonna be the next person out of here.”

  I don’t tell her I think Catherine will be. “I can’t spend my days this way anymore. Unhappy, frustrated, feeling taken advantage of by clients and management. Watching and waiting as they require us to work harder while offering fewer opportunities to make money.”

  Christi shakes her head. “But you’re having a great year. You’re first in the region.”

  “As of last month. You know it’s mere coincidence of numbers, and doesn’t mean I’m working harder or doing a better job than AE number two. Or you.” I mean Liz, who works harder than anyone else at the station for less reward. “I’ve no way to insure my year continues at this pace. And if it does, my quota next year will be brutal. I need to work somewhere I’m valued. Not just for the numbers I pull in, but for meaningful contribution.”

  Somewhere with less stress. There’s no way to achieve inner peace here.

  I unpack my file drawer, crammed with years of effort. With a brief wistful memory, I pick up my first WZRJ mug, which I’ve had since the station’s logo was old-fashioned and blue mixed with pale yellow.

  Liz snorts. “No one ever asks what we think or tells us we did a good job.”

  “It’s all, ‘Why didn’t you schedule more promotions this month, Christi?’ or ‘Why hasn’t XYZ Agency bought time from you?’ or ‘Why do you spend more time entertaining clients than anyone else?’”

  Catherine arrives as I’m finishing my packing. “What’s going on? Why is your stuff in a box?”

  I tell her about the latest e-mail.

  “That sucks. Things are nose diving. Perfect time to get out.”

  “Exactly. So I quit. Then Stan quit.”

  “You did? He did? Wow. What are you going to do?”

  “I wish I knew.” I close my file drawer for the last time. “Like Scarlett, I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Fiddlededee. You should’ve seen Brenda’s face. She’s freaking, but doesn’t want anyone to know. Two down in one day.”

  Catherine looks smug as she pulls a piece of paper from her backpack. “Stick around. If you thought she was upset before, wait ’til I give her my resignation letter. I’m going to email it, but wanted the satisfaction of the old-fashioned way.”

  We burst out laughing. “Three of us quitting in one day. I wish I could be there when Janet, Sue and Josiah find ou
t.”

  Suddenly I know what I have to do. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it earlier. My instincts are hard at work already. I feel empowered and can’t stop smiling.

  “Not you, too, Catherine!” Liz cries. “You can’t leave me here.”

  “Join us, Liz,” I say.

  “I can’t afford to. Credit card debt.”

  Catherine and I exchange a glance that says, “What is she spending her money on? Definitely not clothes, she only has one suit.”

  I look at Liz. No wonder she’s always so worried about getting fired. Who knows what really goes on in people’s lives? Even people you’ve talked to almost every day for years.

  “Ok, guys. It’s my turn,” Catherine says.

  We traipse back to the conference room, but Brenda’s on the phone. In impatient silence, we wait until she hangs up.

  “I quit, too, Brenda.” Catherine hands over her letter with a flourish.

  Brenda swears. She’s screwed and we all know it. I like her and feel bad she’s left with the fallout. There’s no way she can make her goals without three of her AEs. Across the land, are Barnaby Broadcasting AE’s jumping ship, leaving miserable managers in their wake? I picture Josiah standing valiantly on the bow of his rapidly sinking vessel, hand on his chest Napoleon-style.

  “I told Janet to tell Sue to tell Peter to tell Ted to tell Josiah this itinerary thing would never fly,” Brenda says.

  “As brutal as the new report and new goals are, I’m not leaving because of those. I’m going to be a stay at home mom,” Catherine explains. She doesn’t look happy about it, though. “I’m sorry, Brenda.”

  Brenda reads Catherine the resignation spiel.

  The time has come. I go to the conference call phone at the end of the table, an odd shaped thing that resembles a spaceship. I press speed dial #1.

  Brenda rises. “What are you doing, Marla?”

  “What needs to be done. What I should have done a long time ago.”

  “Josiah Barnaby’s office, Nancy speaking.”

  Gasps echo through our conference room.

  “Hello, Nancy.” My voice sounds artificially cheery. “This is Marla Goldberg from WZRJ in Chicago. May I speak with Josiah, please?”

  Everyone in the room has turned paler than Casper the Ghost. No AE has ever, would ever, ever, ever call Josiah directly. It just isn’t done.

  “Is Mr. Barnaby expecting your call? This might not be the best time. Today he’s—”

  “Who’s on the phone, Nancy?” we hear Josiah belt. “Should I take this call?” The leader of hundreds of radio stations needs to ask if he should take a phone call? A pause, and some mumbling. “Fine, put her through.”

  “Yes, Marla, you’re on speaker. What can I do for you?” Between the speaker on his end and the one on ours, his voice sounds a bit mangled.

  My heart is pounding so hard I feel it against my ribs. “Josiah, some of the WZRJ AEs have had a chance to look over your latest e-mail.”

  “Ah, yes. The WSDR. What about it? If you have questions, talk to your manager who can escalate—”

  “Combined with recent commission cutbacks and significant goal increases despite the latest press release detailing the company’s increase in profits, I think you should know the new itinerary requirement is demoralizing to your employees. Compensation plans are supposed to provide incentives, but our goals are so high many of us wonder how we can succeed.”

  “Marla—” Josiah tries to cut me off, but I won’t allow it.

  “We want to be treated with respect, like the professionals we are.”

  “Marla, please, you don’t understand—”

  I understand fine, thank you very much. I see satisfied expressions on everyone’s faces. They wish they’d thought of this. Though I no longer need it, their support is welcome.

  “I don’t think you value my contribution or devotion to your station or the amount of revenue I bring in. So I just quit. Q-U-I-T. And I’m not the only one. Two other Chicago AEs quit today. So next time you decide to—”

  “STOP. NOW.” His yell is so loud through the speaker we all jump.

  Of course I think he’s yelling at me, but we hear a man say, “You know we can’t stop, Josiah. This is great stuff. We’re live. We can cut away for commercials, though. You have two minutes, starting now.”

  “Do you know what you’ve just done, Marla?” Josiah asks. “I’m live on a new, national cable reality show called A Day in the Life. It’s the opposite of Undercover Boss. They’re interviewing C-level executives at work and home to show what life is like at the top. Do you realize that your pronouncement, your denigration of my management and company was broadcast across the entire United States of America?”

  We all gasp with varying degrees of horror. Brenda closes her eyes and puts her head on the table. Stan bursts out laughing.

  “I personally called each member of our board and some major investors and told them to watch me,” Josiah continues. “You’ve made me look like a fool in front of everyone, everywhere. Social media and the trades will have a field day!”

  “We’re back, in five, four, three—”

  Embarrassment flashes. But I spoke honestly and from my heart. I have nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Perhaps you should have considered the ramifications before you implemented so many objectionable, dictatorial changes and distressed many long-term employees. I’m glad the whole country heard. I hope even one executive at one company takes my comments to heart and thinks about working with his employees instead of against them. I cried at every episode of Undercover Boss because the boss learned hard lessons about him or herself and the importance of his employees. Best wishes for your successful future.”

  I punch the release call button. Everyone in the conference room, including Brenda, starts to cheer.

  My legs are unsteady as we go back to the cubes. “I’m glad I quit. I’m glad others know the rock and a hard place a corporation can maneuver their workers into.”

  Catherine tugs on my sleeve. “I’m glad I’m quitting, too. I’ll miss you and some of the others, though. We can’t afford me not working, but my husband thinks it’s so important for the kids to have me at home I can’t refuse. I’ll go stir crazy spending 24/7 with them. I’m too used to working outside the home. What if being a mom isn’t enough for me?”

  “Then you’ll find something else when the time is right. It’ll work out. You have to believe that or every day will be miserable.”

  What great advice I give. Why is it so easy to say those words and mean them about someone else? I can mean them about myself, too.

  “We have to stay in touch.” She gives me a hug.

  “Absolutely. I know, we can be each other’s support group. If being a mom gets too hard, call and we’ll make a Starbucks run. Or if neither of us can spend that much on coffee, I’ll make some.”

  I’m ready to go, but a strange reluctance sets in. It’s unnerving to leave this place, these people with whom I’ve spent so much time. So many years.

  Good riddance, Josiah. Goodbye, WZRJ.

  “I’m sorry you hurt your nose,” Jeff says. “But I’m glad I ran into you. No pun intended.”

  We’re at Dinnertime, drinking wine at an outdoor table. He remembered Pinot Grigio is my favorite (though I read in some magazine that it’s out).

  I haven’t told anyone about my last day at WZRJ. By the time I bravely acted on my instincts, I barely had time to run home and change.

  I’ll tell Jeff as soon as the wine sinks in. “I’m glad, too.”

  His cell rings to the tune of the Pulp Fiction theme. He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this. It’s the office. Swanson here.”

  I sip my wine and relax as Jeff talks in his oh so pleasant voice.

  Since I walked out of the station for the last time, I’ve felt stupendous. I want to jump up and down and cheer. The hugest weight in the world has been heaved from my shoulders. Tomorrow I’ll call my
best clients, unless they already know because they heard about Day in the Life. Then Linda, and my parents. Maybe some of the weight will bear back down after what I’ve done sinks in. When I comprehend that I need a way to earn money.

  For now, I’m out with an attractive man at a hip restaurant about to savor a delicious meal. And maybe later, I’ll get to savor Jeff.

  Jeff looks better every time I see him. He seems brighter than when we first met, not intelligence-wise but intense-wise. His eyes and his personality seem to sparkle more. Even his hair seems shinier. Maybe a weight’s been lifted from him, too.

  Could the change be restored confidence and self-assuredness from being employed again? I gulp my wine. It burns my throat. If so, do I face a downward self-esteem spiral now that I’m jobless? Did I act rashly in the heat of the moment?

  “Sorry about that.” He downs the contents of his glass and pours another. “You said you value honesty. I want you to know the whole truth before we go any farther. We could have a nice evening without talking seriously, but I want us to start with a clean slate.”

  His cell phone rings again. He slaps his hand over his chest pocket, as if the gesture will make it stop.

  “Unbelievable.” Jeff whips out his phone and glances at it. “I’m sorry, Marla, but I have to take this call.”

  How many times have I heard that today?

  Why do we allow cell phones and texts to rule our lives...making the person who’s contacting us more important than whoever we’re already talking to?

  “Swanson.” A short pause. “They want what? First thing tomorrow, no earlier. I’m on my way. ETA twenty minutes. Gather the rest of the team. Thanks.” After he flips his phone shut and sets it on the table, he takes my hand. “I am so sorry. We’ve been pitching this European company, Greenery Gardens.”

  “The five-million-dollar conference call.”

  “It didn’t resolve much as we’d hoped. The CEO needs revisions on our proposal by close of business tomorrow London time. Which means early tomorrow morning our time. So I have to go. I’ll probably be working all night. You know how it is. Client demands. Do whatever it takes to win the account, earn the business.”