Advancement by
Entropy
by Adam Burton
and Chris Okiishi
(10/6/00)
[LIGHTS UP.
MAN and SECRETARY enter.]
SECRETARY: So, I’ve got your resumé and your portfolio,
and I’ll pass those on. Just wait here
and someone will be with you momentarily.
(exits)
MAN: I understood, of course, that it was a
euphemism. I mean, no one really shows
up “momentarily.” But within a few
minutes there were four or five people talking to me.
GROUP
enters.
1:
So you must be….
2: Glad to meet you!
3: Heard such great things about….
4: But I’ve got some questions…
5: …just a few things…
2:
…clarifications, really…
1:
Just not quite sure about…
4:
I mean, I like your work
3:
…but…
2:
…but…
1:
…but…
5:
…but…
GROUP
freezes.
MAN: So it was going well, or as well as I
expected anyway. But that’s when things
got kinda weird.
AUDITORY
INTERRUPTION awakens GROUP. (cell
phones, beepers, etc.)
ALL: Hold that thought, be right back… (exiting
in different directions)
MAN
(sitting stunned; pause): I’ve never been very good at waiting. As a child, my mother would tell me not to
fidget. Girlfriends would tell me not
to bounce my leg while waiting for the movie to start. I just really hate to waste time, but I
understand that sometimes it’s just part of the game. And everywhere I’ve been, I’ve been a team player. I know how to take direction. (pauses,
looks around) So I dug in my heels
and, well, waited. One hour. Two hours.
Three. My stomach was rumbling,
being accustomed to regular feedings.
Several times I almost got up to find someone, anyone, to get an update
on the situation—I mean, this was ridiculous—but they had to know I was
there. They were just really busy or
something. So I stayed put. But at 4:30 I decided enough was enough and
I got up to find out what was going on…
SECRETARY: You aren’t leaving, are you, sir? So sorry for the wait, but it won’t be much
longer. Things are a little crazy
around here today. There’s been a
shakeup in the business, some rearrangement in middle management. Now I have to run off to a doctor’s
appointment, but rest assured: no one has forgotten you. One of our remaining staff members should be with you shortly. (nervous
laugh; exits)
MAN
(pause): A couple of hours later I heard some shouting and slamming doors,
and caught a glimpse of someone, well, a few someones, exiting with their
belongings in boxes, but that was pretty much it for excitement that
evening. Did I mention it was evening? So much time had passed that I didn’t want
to leave the room even to check with the receptionist or someone coming to see
me might think I had given up and gone home.
And the last thing I wanted to do was give them the impression I was a
deserter. No sirree, I’m in this for
the long haul. At 10:30 I convinced a
janitor to bring me a glass of water. I
even managed to get in a nap between 11:00 and 2:00 before the climate control
system shut down and it got too cold to sleep.
And at 4am I found two tic-tacs and part of a Jolly Rancher under the
radiator in the corner. I was showing
them I was a survivor. I could handle
anything they could throw at me.
Days
went by, and though my constipation grew nearly intolerable I gradually became
accustomed to my newfound home. The
morning people thought I was someone who’d come in early, and the evening
people thought I was just staying late.
Given my prime location (the main conference room), I managed to sit in
on quite a few meetings, everyone apparently assuming someone else had invited
me. I eavesdropped on office gossip,
overheard enough snippets to piece together the product design and corporate
strategy, and had a pretty strong basis for my bet in the office pool on which
of the new temps was gay. After a week,
I even got invited to sign the “Get Well” card for that receptionist who’d left
me here in the first place. His
appendix had burst at his doctor’s appointment—talk about timing—and he wasn’t
expected back for months.
It
was about then that I realized I had started to acquire some sort of status in
the firm. I was always available, and
usually knew the answer, or could at least make up something convincing without
having to worry about consequences.
Since I didn’t seem to answer to anyone, everyone just assumed I was
higher up in the company than they were.
No one was quite sure, but they didn’t want to offend me by asking. After all, maybe I could fire them. At first, I tried to be as vague as
possible, referring people to other departments, deferring to the judgment of
others, but gradually I began to enjoy the power. So I started making some decisions, green-lighted a few projects,
got my name on some memos. I
requisitioned a water cooler and started ordering takeout on the General
Expense budget. When one of the
partners, thanks to some careful maneuvering on my part, got “downsized,” I
campaigned successfully for his executive corner office (and, much to my
relief, its accompanying private facilities).
After all, I was everyone’s best friend by then, and they were happy to
oblige me.
But
still my position was not secure. I had
an office, but no salary. I had
respect, but no position. And I still
hadn’t been home in months, for fear that once I left the building I would
never get back in again, since I had no security badge or keys of any
sort. Now a world-class veteran of the
waiting game, I bided my time, searching for the perfect moment.
Finally,
it came. A new temp secretary (whom I’d
hired, by the way) brought me the budget and company organizational chart to
proof before the annual meeting.
Concealing my excitement, as casually as I could I joked with her that
she’d left me off the report. She
blushed a furious red and offered to correct it immediately, but I was ready
for her. “No, that’s alright,” I
responded nonchalantly. “I’ll do it myself.”
That
afternoon at the board meeting, the exiting president of the company was a
little irked that he had not been consulted about the timing of his departure
or the identity of his successor, but after all our lunches together discussing
his failing marriage and plans for retirement he was hard-pressed to come up
with a good reason for making a fuss about it.
In a grand ceremonial gesture he handed me his keys and security
clearance. The room erupted in a flurry
of applause and congratulations. My
acceptance speech was brief, but laced with personal asides and pithy anecdotes
that my months of casual observation had afforded me. I had arrived. And
knowing this, now I could leave.
As
I made my way to the elevator, I looked in one more time on my old conference
room. To my surprise, someone else now
occupied my chair. He looked at me
hopefully, and I understood immediately who he was.
MAN: You’re waiting, aren’t you?
APPLICANT: Yes, it’s been hours. I think they’ve forgotten me.
MAN
(to audience): I saw in this man something of myself,
something I’d left behind when this whole ordeal began. I wanted to reach out, to pull him along,
bring him with me into the bright future.
But let’s face it—there’s really only room for one at the top.
APPLICANT: What should I do?
MAN: I’m sorry if there's been some
misunderstanding, but there really is no place for you here. Let me walk you out.
"Advancement by Entropy" debuted October 6, 2000.
Library]
