Challenge Accepted!

By , October 19, 2012 8:55 am

Writing experiment time! No, I haven’t hired a pack of monkeys to read my writing, mostly because I’ve seen every Planet of the Apes movie and so the last thing I’d ever want to do is piss off a pack of monkeys. No, this experiment is in response to that storyish excerpt I posted earlier this week. On that one I got busted by coworkers both current and former for writing something that sure as hell seemed like it was, at the very least, strongly influenced by a certain employer of ours.

I disagreed with this assessment, but since these were two pretty bright people busting me on it, I couldn’t just say they don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about and move on to the next thing. So I decided to take a few bus trips and a meeting or two and try to bang out something that was directly influenced by a real life soul-sucking event. And I learned some important things.

I learned that, no matter what I may have been doing unconsciously the first time, it’s much harder to write a stupid short excerpt when more than half my brain is trying to remember what happened, what facts are necessary for the story, what should be cut out, what needs to be changed to protect the guilty, and if there’s any way to ensure that the character who gets the majority of my lines ends up being the good guy. As you can imagine if you’ve read any other fiction I’ve written, that’s way more thinking than I usually put into it. I also learned that it’s not that much fun to throw a thin veil over people and events if you’re gonna spend half your time wondering if that veil’s too thin. Couple that with my notoriously bad memory and you get, well, you get the following mess.

This…thing is based on an actual event from December 2011, a period that’s somewhere in my personal top 5 worst work experiences. I took the two characters from the original excerpt and ran them through the start of a grueling evening. It stops where it stops for two reasons. One, I was tired of the experiment. And two, it was headed into dangerous waters and in another couple of paragraphs that pathetically thin veil was going to be shredded. Best for all concerned if I protect myself from more bad writing and potential real life repercussions.

For now if I decide to write any more office-based stuff, I’ll do it the way I always have — I’ll run it through a filter of nearly a quarter century of office life. That way if you see something familiar, you can think you know what it’s based on or you can wonder if that same insanely stupid shit you lived through really also happened somewhere else. Trust me, most times it’s that second one. So if all this rambling hasn’t scared you off, I’ll have my assistant dim the lights and we’ll see just how much of a Frankenstein’s monster we’re dealing with here…

Ben scrolled through the endless list of emails in his inbox, wondering if he was ever going to figure out how to prioritize this stuff. Most of it was too new to him, so it all looked the same. Every one of these emails could’ve been equally worthless or equally important and so far he had no way of knowing the difference. The only thing Yank had told him about it was to ignore any email marked Urgent.
“Everyone uses that in every email, so the word has no meaning anymore,” Yank had said. “Ignore it enough times and maybe people will learn their lesson.”
Yank had a long list of lessons be wanted people to learn, and Ben was so far unable to figure out that list either.
Ben turned away from his emails to give his eyes a break and he noticed Yank walking toward his desk at a fast pace while looking over at the far end of the office where the conference rooms were located. He didn’t actually look in Ben’s direction until he dropped into the nearest empty chair.
“Hey, Ohio, you know all that good advice I’ve been giving you?” he asked.
“No,” Ben said.
“Well, I’m about to give you some of the most important advice I could ever pass along.”
“And what’s that?”
“Run like hell right now,” Yank said. “Run and don’t look back. See you tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“There’s no time. Just get the hell out of here before it’s too late.” Yank jumped from the chair, turned his head to survey the whole office, and then started backing away. He got about three steps when the familiar voice of their tech manager called out from behind them.
“Yank, got a second?”
Yank stopped backing away and said something Ben couldn’t hear that was probably profanity of some sort.
“I’ve got about one second, Kevin. What’s up?”
Kevin nodded at Ben and slouched against a nearby pillar. “You work on that theme park job?”
“Nope.”
“You didn’t ask me which theme park job.”
“Because I haven’t worked on any theme park jobs, so by definition I haven’t worked on whatever job you’re talking about.”
“This was one of Eric’s projects,” Kevin said.
“Eric who quit Eric?”
“Yes.”
“Then I can’t help you, Kevin. He didn’t let me work on his stuff.”
“You refused every request to help him out.”
“What can I say, we had a perfect working relationship,” Yank said. “I miss that guy already. You shouldn’t have let him go.”
“You were at a meeting for this one,” Kevin said. “I know you were.”
Yank cocked his head and appeared to be staring past Kevin as he considered this. Then he frowned.
“Oh, that meeting. I was only at that meeting because there were free sandwiches. I didn’t actually pay attention to anything.”
“Still puts you ahead of anyone else left here tonight,” Kevin said.
“Once again my love of a good sandwich comes back and screws me. Ohio, write that down.”
“Just duck your head in the conference room. See if you can help,” Kevin said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Site’s broken.”
“Which page?”
“All of them.”
“Of course all of them. Why do I even ask? What about Ohio here?”
“What about him? Ben, did you work on this site?”
“He spearheaded it,” Yank said before Ben could say anything.
“We started this site six months before we hired him,” Kevin said. “But an extra set of eyes couldn’t hurt. Ben, do you mind sticking around?”
“No problem.” Ben left his chair and followed Yank across the office
“You just totally sold me out,” he said.
“Maybe that’ll teach you a lesson,” Yank said. “Run when I say run. At least you got asked.”
“Yeah, but it felt like one of those requests you can only say yes to.”
“Look at that, Ohio, you’re learning a new lesson every day.”
There were only two men seated in the conference room. Nate, their lead programmer, and Barney, the guy who owned the place. Ben barely knew either of them, but Barney scared the hell out of him. Not because he was some kind of imposing presence — Ben towered at least half a foot taller than him — but because Ben was not capable of relaxing around anyone who could, in theory, fire him on a whim. He appeared to be a perfectly pleasant man, but Ben steered clear just the same.
Yank pushed the glass doors open and looked at the website displayed on the big screen on the wall.
“All I wanna know is, who broke it?” he asked as he took a seat at the end of the table. Ben circled around and sat to his right.
Yank squinted up at the screen. “This thing looks fine. What’s the problem?”
“You know the name of the park, right?” Nate asked.
“Yep.”
“What’s the website say?”
After a moment’s pause, Yank’s eyes snapped open. “Well now, isn’t that interesting?”
“So interesting I’m screaming right now,” Barney said. “You can’t hear because I’m screaming in my head, but trust me. Screaming at the top of imaginary lungs.”
“Have we ever put up a website with the wrong company name on it, or is this virgin territory for us?” Yank asked.
“I think this is new,” Nate said.
“Then this is a proud moment,” Yank said. “Ohio, when you consider all of the many ways this company has fucked up over the years, I hope you can appreciate what an honor it is to be here when we’ve discovered a brand new way to fuck up. Anyone wanna pose for a picture to capture the moment?”
“Yank, that’s enough,” Barney said. “There’s problems on every page. Wrong artwork, updates that are missing. Who knows what else. We need to go through the whole thing and fix it all.”
“What about Eric’s replacement?” Yank asked. “She seemed like a nice woman. Just the kind of person you’d expect to jump at the chance to help out even if it wasn’t, oh, I don’t know, her fucking job. Where the hell is she right now?”
Nate averted his eyes and Barney shook his head. “She actually quit this morning,” he said.
“How did that happen?”
“She said she couldn’t deal with the late hours, so she walked.”
“Jesus,” Yank said. “She wasn’t here two weeks and she quit? We really need to do something about people like that. If they’re smart enough to quit after two weeks, we should immediately promote them to management, because they’re obviously smarter than the rest of us and probably know things.”
Ben didn’t like the way the vein on Barney’s left temple was pulsing. He wondered if Yank’s strategy was to get the boss to stroke out right here at the table. Then he remembered that Yank and strategy were two words not very well acquainted.
“Yank, seriously, shut up,” Barney said. “I want the next words out of your mouth to be something productive. If they’re not, you can go home and you can stay there until I tell you to come back in. Clear?”
Yank stared at Barney for a long moment, and Ben felt his stomach roll over. He didn’t want Yank to say anything because he was sure these next words would blow everything up. Then Yank turned to look up at the big screen, and he took this in for an uncomfortable minute. He looked back at Barney with a frown.
“I don’t know a goddamn thing about how this site is supposed to look,” he said. “I’m not learning in the next five minutes either. So what we’ll need is printouts of what we’ve got and printouts of everything we were told to do. I’ll compare ’em and I’ll tell Nate here what he has to fix. He’ll make the fixes and in the morning you’ll have something to test.”
“I can get you those screen shots,” Barney said as he rose from his chair. “You need anything else?”
“Ohio here is gonna need a snack in a little while,” Yank said. “He’s gonna be up past his bedtime and he gets cranky if he hasn’t had something to eat.”
Barney shook his head as he left the room.
“He’s not gonna be here the whole night, is he?” Yank asked.
Nate shrugged. “He told me he’d do whatever we need him to do.”
“We fucking need him to go home is what we need him to do. Does he honestly think he’s the lynchpin in this plan?”
“I told him we can handle this,” Nate said. “I don’t know if he’ll listen.”
“You told him too early,” Yank said. “There wasn’t a plan yet.”
“Now that the plan came from you, you think he’s just going to walk out of here?”
“You can’t tell him you can handle something before you can tell him how you’re gonna do it,” Yank said. “You know he gets paranoid. You’ve gotta back your bullshit up or you never get rid of him. Rookie mistake, Nate.”
Nate shrugged.
“Speaking of which, any idea how this got so fucked up?”
“Nope. Usual reasons, probably. It’s like nobody was in charge of the site since Eric left,” Nate said. “This is what happens when nobody’s in charge.”
“Dirty little secret of this place, Ohio, is this is also what happens when somebody’s in charge. Don’t be the somebody that fucks up this bad.”
Ben reached across the table to snag one of the sets of stapled printouts. It was a list of the errors on the site. It was nearly ten pages long. Yank didn’t look at one but he gestured toward the pile.
“I’ve said it before, this is what happens when we hire people who can’t write and people who can’t read and let them work together,” he said. “No one wants to hear that.”
“Charlie was the programmer on this,” Nate said.
“I don’t care. Didn’t Charlie spell his name wrong in his email signature and not notice for three weeks? He’s your example?”
“I’m not arguing with you,” Nate said. “I just wanna fix this and maybe get home while it’s still today.”
“That’s another problem,” Yank said. “No one ever wants to argue about this. Ohio, one of these days we’ll learn our lesson here. Maybe one of us will even be around to see it.”

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