Help Wanted (12 page)

"Thanks," Claire replied to the buzz of the dial tone.

Happy nonetheless, she shot off her reply to John using the company's internal instant messaging system.

"I'll go with 7am to 3pm, thx."

She was about to redirect her attention to the new specs, when Amanda stood in the entrance of her cube, dressed in an unfortunate pairing of lime-green velour and faded denim.

"Hey, Amanda. How's it going?"

The seasoned technical writer sat in the chair next to Claire's desk and whispered to her, "So, what do you think of John?"

Unsure of how much Amanda knew of her and John's friendship, she answered with a question of her own. "Why?"

Amanda proceeded to tell Claire how, from her perspective, everything was "fine" before John came along. "I don't know why they thought they needed a manager here anyway." She pulled herself up and put her hand to her shirt collar. "I have been here since the beginning. I know this product inside and out. I am self-managed…"

"Well," Claire proceeded carefully, "I'm not sure. Sometimes, managers are brought in to expand operations. You know better than anybody that the company's trying to go global. Maybe they needed somebody like John, who has experience with working in global environments and can handle things like translations and setting up offshore teams."

Amanda looked at her with disdain. "So it's true." She began anxiously twirling a long strand of her hair around her index finger.

"What?" Claire wasn't sure why, but she had clearly hit a nerve.

"They're moving my job to India. I knew it. Well, let them just try and get the quality they're getting now. I have a master's in English, for pity's sake." Her face grew red, and despite the magnification of her lenses, it looked as if tears were beginning to well up behind them.

Dredging up the same assuring tone she would use when one of her boys had a rough day, she put her hand on Amanda's arm. "Wait a minute. Nobody's said anything about outsourcing anybody's job. Please don't worry about that. Besides, if I were John, I'd be very appreciative of the fact that I have someone on my team as knowledgeable and dependable as you."

"Really?"

"Are you kidding me? Absolutely."

Amanda drew a deep breath and then smiled. "Thanks. Well, listen. I'll let you get back to work. See ya later."

"Anytime. Take it easy."

Having lost her drive to see how badly the new specs would affect her plan to complete her project on time, she put them aside and took out her notebook. When inspiration hit, she knew she had to write it down, or it would be lost forever. It was the same process that she used to compile her grocery list.

She quickly jotted down, "Possible column topic—how to survive in today's global job market." Looking at what she had just written, she thought a moment, scratched it out, and went to get another cup of coffee.

When she got back to her desk, she drafted a response to Telecommuting Tanika.

"Dear T.T., I feel your pain. For most bread-winning parents, the very word 'telecommuting' conjures up a vision of a perfectly balanced lifestyle, one in which work and home are seamlessly intertwined.

"While I agree that working from home definitely has its advantages, experience, on the other hand, has taught me that if kids are about, the line dividing work and home can quickly become blurred.

"To help redraw said line, my kids and I developed a list of mutually agreed upon rules to keep the two straight.

"No. 1—If my office door is closed, do not open it. Ever.

"Case in point. On a frantic morning not long ago, one of my sons alerted me to the fact that his supply of clean underwear had run dry. Throwing a quick load in the wash, I ascended to my office to prepare for a mandatory cannot-miss, must-participate-in meeting with members of my project team. Just as we were diving into the gritty details of said plan, my son burst in with, 'Hey, Mom, the underwear's done!'

"'Great…thanks, honey,' I replied after hitting the mute button on my phone with enough force to push my car down the driveway and onto the street.

"No. 2—No singing in the shower.

"Because my home office shares a wall with my sons' bathroom, and the members of my project team do not appreciate the aesthetics of the current top-forty list as much as my boys do, singing in the shower is banned when I am on the clock.

"No. 3—Dazzle me with your survival skills.

"Remember that despite being home, I really am working. The last thing I want to see when I punch out is a sink full of dirty dishes. Also, do not expect me to fetch things, make things, or clean things that you can fetch, make, or clean yourself.

"No. 4—No electronic devices at the kitchen table.

"Why? They're distracting, cause disputes over possession, usually emit whirring, beeping, or vroom-vroom noises, and divert one's attention from the meal.

"In short, playing with toys at the table is just plain rude.

"As soon as my husband reminded me of this, I closed my laptop and slipped it into my briefcase at my feet.

"No. 5—Keep work at work.

"Arriving late to a lovely sit-down dinner with my family, I took a head count and noted that all were in attendance. No one was at Scouts, track practice, or the library.

"We had a quorum.

"So while everyone was enjoying their food, discussing their day, and telling newly learned jokes, I pulled out my planner and, knee bouncing furiously under the table, started running through my agenda. Topics included family vacation ideas and a review of open action items ('Honey, where are we at with getting that check-engine light diagnosed?' and 'Didn't I ask someone to shovel today?').

"Something in their blank stares told me that I had crossed the line.

"Best of luck. If you come up with any additional rules, please share. We can all learn something new from each other." 

Putting that work aside, Claire was determined to get her second round of review drafts ready and distributed before leaving later that afternoon.

*   *   *

After dropping the boys off at school that morning, Paul headed downtown for a meeting with Lester Crenshaw and his direct reports. As he approached Marie Walters, the receptionist for Griffin Media, he saw her lift a phone receiver to her ear and announce, "Paul's here."

"Hi, Marie. How ya doin' today?"

In between contractions in the labor and delivery suite of Chicago General, Nina had filled him on the fifty-eight-year old widow. He learned that Marie held the longest tenure at the paper and an uncanny ability to store information. As such, she remembered everything there was to know about everybody, including but not limited to, their contact information, schedules, birthdays, health ailments, kids' allergies, favorite vacation destinations, and salary negotiations.

If that wasn't bad enough, Nina warned, her desk was a magnet for chatter. Marie kept tabs on office gossip and was not above using it to her advantage. While outwardly, she kept the office humming along smoothly, inwardly, she held the power to make or break careers.

Figuring he was immune since he worked off-site and was temporary, he was amused by her not-so-subtle interrogation.

"Paul. How nice to see you again. Here for the meeting?"

"Yes."

"And how is your day going so far?"

"Oh, good, thanks. Busy."

Marie raised her drawn-on eyebrows and asked, "Kids at school?"

"Yep."

"How many?"

"Four."

"Four. Really?"

"All boys. Five to fifteen."

"No! God bless you."

Paul smiled politely and tried glancing at his watch without being impolite.

If Marie noticed, it didn't keep her from pushing the envelope. "Your wife must be exhausted."

"Ha, no, she's got it easy. She goes to work every day. I'm the one who stays home with them."

"Get outta here. What does she do?"

"Oh, she works downtown. She's a writer. Computer manuals. Stuff like that."

Marie appeared to be digesting this information, when her phone rang. Paul took the opportunity to give her a quick wave and bolt up through the doors that would take him to Lester's office.

*   *   *

After she redirected the call to the billing department, Marie hung up the phone and continued her online correspondence with Margaret Fuller, who had just celebrated thirty-three years of working in the paper's advertising department.

Marie: "Paul Mendez, married, four boys. Nice bunz."

Margaret: "Four boys? Same as that new columnist. Small world."

Marie: "Said wife works downtown. Computer manuals…"

Margaret: "Interesting. U joining us for lunch today?"

Marie: "Wouldn't miss it!"

Margaret: "Good. Carlotta said she'd get us a table at Brewsters. Usual time."

Marie: "Great! TTYL!"

*   *   *

In the conference room adjacent to Lester's office, Dianne sat smugly in the chair she usually occupied during his weekly meetings. She preferred the one facing the windows affording her a view of the Chicago skyline and the southwest suburbs that stretched beyond. It also happened to be the chair closest to the door, affording her a quick exit once the meetings were adjourned.

As people slowly filtered in, Dianne put on her reading glasses and reviewed the report she had prepared. In previous meetings, her reports consistently demonstrated the increase in ad revenue for the Lifestyle section since Mattie had taken over the Plate Spinner column from Carlotta. Since the report she'd be presenting at this meeting would be the first to prove that Claire's Plate Spinner was capable of taking it up yet another notch, she enlisted the aid of a graphic designer to help accentuate her success.

"Hi ya, Di." Tom Newman, the Sports editor, sat down next to her. His breath was an unpleasant mixture of garlic and pipe smoke.

Acknowledging his greeting, she nodded and said, "Tom."

Blake Archer, editor of the Business section, sat across the table from her dressed impeccably in a navy blue Brooks Brothers suit. Relocating from New York a few months after she did, he was still smarting over having to include Midwest farm reports alongside news of corporate earnings and take-overs. She took in a deep breath of his expensive cologne and was idly stacking her papers in front of her when someone new walked in. A middle-aged man, tan, good looking, and too enthusiastic to be a regular employee. Dianne watched as he sat next to her.

"Hi. I'm Paul." He extended his hand to her.

She took it. "Dianne."

Paul smiled. "Nice to meet you."

She surveyed him over her glasses. "Same here."

He frowned in reply, and she watched as his gaze turned toward Lester, who had just entered the room with the punch-drunk haggard and exhausted look of a new dad. He started speaking before he even sat down. 

"Hello, everyone. Thanks for coming. Ok, let's get right to it. Paul, what do you have for me?" He put his hands on the back of his chair and looked at the floor.

Paul pulled his report out of a binder he had brought and held it a distance, presumably to give his eyes a better shot at focusing on the numbers.

The team listened as he read the bottom lines of the balance sheet and quarterly P&L statement.

Before he could continue, Lester muttered, "Pretty much as expected."

He sat in his chair, put his elbows on the table, and folded his hands and nodded at Paul to proceed.

The new guy offered his analysis, detailing how they had fared compared to the last quarter and the same period the year before.

When he finished, Lester thanked him and turned to his direct reports. "As you just heard, the
Gazette
is hanging on by its fingernails. I want to hear from each of you what you're doing to keep this paper from going under."

He pointed to Blake. "You first."

The Business section editor sat up in his chair, straightened his tie, and announced his section's earnings for the month. Lester leaned over to Paul and whispered, "What were they last month?"

Paul put a piece of paper before Lester and pointed to the Total column with his pen.

Looking up at Blake, Lester muttered, "No change. Therefore, no improvement."

Pointing to Tom, he asked, "What about Sports?"

Tom, having spent the previous evening covering a Blackhawks game that had gone into double overtime, shrugged and confessed that he had not prepared for the meeting. Again, Lester conferred with Paul, who pointed to a figure on the sheet.

Lester nodded. "Uh-huh. Ok, Di. Make my day."

Dianne coolly distributed copies of her revenue report to everyone around the table while explaining, "As you can see, revenue from the Lifestyle section is up five percent from last month and—" She waited until Lester looked up at her. She placed her report in front of him, continuing. "Up twelve percent from the same period a year ago."

Lester stared at the sheet and then over to Paul, whose expression told him that Di was spot-on with her reporting.

"Yes. That's more like it. Great job."

Watching as Blake and Tom nodded, exchanged smiles, and began to relax, Di executed a perfect eardrum-piercing wolf whistle. "Don't you mean, 'Great job, Di?'"

Tom rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. Blake started examining his fingernails.

Lester stared at her, confused. "Isn't that what I said?"

"No," she said softly. "You left it rather open to interpretation."

Lester offered her what appeared to be a genuine smile. "I'm sorry, Di. You did a marvelous job."

He then addressed the other two editors. "You two had better get off your butts and do the same. Now, let's go over the rest of the forecast. Oh, and by the way, has everyone met Paul Mendez? He's filling in for Nina until she comes back. Why don't you tell them a little bit about yourself."

With a nod, Paul indulged him. "Hi. Uh, I was a senior account manager for over ten years at Creiger Financial before becoming a stay-at-home dad to my four boys."

After Tom and Blake exchanged greetings with the new guy, Dianne turned to face him and asked, "Mendez? Really?"