A local paper is looking for a reporter, someone able to work independently and get on the ball. Someone with balls, perhaps.
This local paper doesn’t amount to much. It’s a shitty rag, but with high hopes of cleaning up its unremarkable antecedants.
An exclusively uphill task, considering not a single reporter trained to be a reporter.
We get all worked up. We hear magnificent stories of new ownership and (re)new(ed) drive to pour resources, staff and money, to fashion a worthy newspaper.
There is a commitment, you understand, a commitment to greatness after years of abysmal crap.
The game begins.
Phone calls are exchanged.
E-mails carry resumé and clips.
An interview is set up, and oh well, you will pardon if the boss is disorganized. He has a lot on his plate: You would be a little dazed, too.
The news hole is one big hole, but that means more chance for your stories to stand out. Remember they are serious about turning things around. These people are journalist professionals. They have experience. They bring the backing of a respected news organization.
This way, the guy doesn’t have to leave town to go beg in god forsaken shit holes where mediocre editors, intoxicated on their own stench, want the world delivered for free.
Even then, word on the potholed street is that any job, even a crappy one for a crappy wage and no benefits in a crappy town with crap to do should be construed as a gift. As advancement toward the noble goal of a paid writing career.
The conditioning works overtime. If they are hungry, let them eat cake.
This job looks positively glorious contrasted to this grotesque mind set.
But, uh. I forgot to say. Someone – I can’t quite say who, but not a former boss – kinda said, you know, that you were, uh, hard to work with, what is the word he used, that you were high maintenance. This makes me uncomfortable because I need to hire someone who’s not going to be a pain in the behind, basically. Someone who can enterprise stories. (Don’t you love that word, “enterprise”? We are barely disguising our ultimate commercial goal.) Someone who will not cause trouble.
So, umm, I was thinking about a probation period. You know, like I see if I like you, if you are not too high maintenance. And you see if you like us. A win-win situation.
(gasp)
How sweet.
But, but, the man is offering you a job. Focus on the positive. He presents you with an exciting, unrivaled opportunity.
Kiss his goddammed ring!
A long weekend and passions abate. No more probation period. You are a good guy. Of course you are. I always knew it.
So when can you start?
Great! One last thing, though. I haven’t quite gotten the go ahead on the position yet. Just a few phone calls and it will all be squared away, no worries.
(another 24 hours)
Hey, it’s me. I swear I didn’t know, but there’s a hiring freeze. But, tell you what, until I am told not to do something, I’ll do it. So you go ahead and come over. Your first day will be ….
The chum drives to the newsroom, not nearly as motivated as two weeks ago, but he can read the writing on the wall as well as the next guy. He needs a job, and if this shit passes for respectable behavior, so be it.
A few informal introductions and he is given a couple of stories to work on. He doesn’t want to appear high maintenance, but still it would be nice to know how much he will get paid, benefits and all. I know, trivial stuff. The more comfy people are in their own financial well-being, the quicker they are to look at those things as inconsequential. But for the working stiff, knowing how and when a paycheck will arrive ranks very high on the list of essential requirements.
Lunchtime with a friendly lady, drafted to work for free as an intern and still nursing gracious illusions and the call comes.
How would you like to work freelance?
No comments:
Post a Comment