Exit Interview

Carrie Shipers

Not because of the hours or the pay, which could be worse.
          Not because of my commute into this office park,
                    or that no one else appreciates that phrase as much as I do.

Not the dim unholy hum of energy-efficient lights,
          recycled air with hints of garlic and scorched wool,
                    the break room fridge with its mysterious stains, open bottle

of rosé no one will drink or claim. Not the thousand
          bloodless paper cuts, copier that jams in high humidity,
                    the legion e-mails labeled Urgent, their emoticons

and useless FYIs. Not the spreadsheets and reports
          that are assigned, written, revised and never spoken of.
                    Not the tedium of meetings at which nothing is discussed,

managers who barely learned my name before
          they disappeared. Not because of everything that doesn’t
                    function—water fountains, window blinds, the entire

marketing department. Not even because of office politics,
          the gossip and jockeying, spats over power we don’t have.
                    Because the work I love is what I spend the least time

doing. Because I jerk awake at 4:00 am, my fists
          already clenched, have stopped feeling concern for coworkers
                    upset by bad reviews, sick pets or family cancer.

Because every shift in policy makes my life slightly
          worse, and I can’t find the line between caring too much
                    and total apathy. Because ever since I started here

I’ve been assured things will improve, but I’m afraid
          that staying means becoming bitter and entrenched,
                    unhappy but unable to move on.

We noticed participation has decreased, though whether due to layoffs or malaise we can’t be sure. While the survey is anonymous, if you filled the comment boxes with These questions suck or Stop wasting my time, we probably know who you are, especially if you mentioned your division, duties and job description, and even more so if you signed your name. We’re sorry you’re suffering, but we doubt work caused your divorce. We’re also dismayed by demands for better leadership. While you’re welcome to select Somewhat or Not at all in response to Do you find management effective?, we’d like you to imagine how that makes us feel. Perhaps it was insensitive to ask which of your coworkers are seeking other jobs, but we really need an estimate. If you left that question blank, it’s not too late to pass some names along. The news isn’t all bad. Even with increased co-pays and deductibles, our health plan is a hit, especially for those with anxiety, depression and insomnia. Although we can’t eliminate long waits when contacting HR, you can now turn off the music while on hold. Widespread raises are impossible, but we’ve found funds for better toilet paper, ice cream once a month. In the coming weeks, a new task force will form to brainstorm future questionnaires as well as cost-effective ways to ease— if not eradicate—your pain. (Though we’re aware of some survey fatigue, this instrument was too expensive not to use.) The next window for feedback opens soon. We’ll keep asking what you think until your answers change.

Let the seats be plentiful and padded. Let the magazines be recent or let the book I’ve brought last until we can leave. Let the TV on its bolted stand be off, muted, or showing something I can ignore— weather, gameshows, CNN. Let the room be mostly empty—no one shouting, sobbing, asking about my husband’s health. Let everyone be strangers except the staff. Let the walls be freshly painted, soothing to behold. Let my husband be there for a physical or routine checkup. Let no one comment on my clothes or unwashed hair, how I can sit so calmly while he has staples or a catheter removed, his lungs or heart or kidneys tested, an infected wound debrided. Under no circumstances let me be called into the back by a nurse who touches my arm, says I’m sorry but— Let my husband walk out whistling before I’ve finished my book, looked at my watch too many times. Let the news be good or benign, his next appointment not for months. When the waiting is over, let us walk outside feeling better, or at least no worse, than we did before.

I’ve always been afraid to fall—the rough embrace of the net, the crowd’s shocked gasp, my mother’s disapproval. She loves me best when I can fly, when I trust the bar, the leap, the air and all my training. From far away, every catch, release and tumble looks as effortless as breath. Up close, we grunt and cry, hands sweat and slip, wires creak and nearly tangle. I’d rather be the girl the magician disappears, the lovely target spinning for the knives, assistant who holds the hoops the cats jump through—anything to avoid the long climb and quick launch into space where only light will catch me every time. Every landing comes as a relief, the platform trembling beneath my feet, ache in my chest easing. If I crash into the net I have to wave and smile, pretend it doesn’t hurt to fall so far.

Poems

Exit Interview

More by Carrie Shipers

Report on the Most Recent Survey of Morale

Prayer to Our Lady of Waiting Rooms

Self-Portrait as Aerialist

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Exit Interview

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