Chapter Eight

Allison, my Allison!

Today, Allison called. And we talked about me. Me, and my book tour.

And upon hanging up I decided the time had arrived to take a look at the man in the mirror, and perhaps wrestle with the Hollywood starlet that was trying to sleep her way up the ladder to the forefront of my consciousness.

Why? Because the topic of “me” was getting just a tad too much face-time at the podium-- I was beginning to think like one of those clients who’d burned me out back in ad biz, believing my needs and position somehow entitled me to a greater share of Allison’s attention. This is a difficult thing to process for a guy who thinks the words “me” and “entitled” go together like “Janet Reno” and “thong.”

The conversation entailed mostly me listening, and Allison explaining what she was up to. Arranging a book tour for a first-time author is no easy task, because it entails asking bookstore owners who’ve carefully built a following of readers/buyers to throw caution to the wind and host an event for an author who could arrive and subsequently shatter into a million little pieces.

Her current focus, Allison explained, was on organizing my jaunt around South and North Carolina. I’m happy to report that I did not miss any of the conversation due to errant fantasies, nor did I press her to do more, nor did I ask her if she’d heard from Oprah. In fact, I managed to repeat my previous performance on the phone, which of course revolved around me saying “that’s great” and failing to ask a single pertinent question.

Note to self: Get Allison to call after 5:30pm when you’ve got a couple bracers onboard. It certainly can’t hurt.

The Sun Also Sets

Today, I met Marjory Wentworth, the Poet Laureate of South Carolina.

Did you know South Carolina had a Poet Laureate?

Me neither-- but it’s nice to know we have a fancy book-learnin’ position like that down here in the Palmetto State. The only poems I know start with the words, “There once was a man from Nantucket,” and “They scrub these walls to stop my pen,” so it’s delightful to discover we have at least one person in the state qualified to laureate.

As always occurs to a South Carolinian, the question came to mind, “Are you the 49th best state Poet Laureate?” because that’s where our state seems to rank in everything. Happily, however, discretion won the battle for my tongue-- If ever appointed Humorist Laureate, I would consider that question punch-worthy, so my pie-hole remained shut.

Still, I wondered about Mississippi, and if they had themselves good enough couth to have an official Rhymin’ Writer.

Anyway, my awareness of Marjory (and her title) came from my novelist friend Beth Webb Hart, because Marjory handles Beth Webb’s book tours and publicity. We’d spoken briefly on the phone a few days earlier, then I lucked into encountering her with Beth Webb at a library literary event. She’s the sweet, upbeat, wild-eyed type poet that one hopes for when meeting a poet.

“So you’re Prioleau!”

“And you, Marjory, are the highest ranking poet I’ve ever met.”

“I looked up your publisher on the web, and I love them! Incredible literary integrity, real diversity—too cool! You should be very proud they picked you up!”

“Well, thanks, Marjory. I’m just a rookie, but my agent thinks the world of them.”

“When do you ship?”

(Note: Apparently, I ship. Cool.)

“The books ship in a month, and the official publishing date is in six weeks.”

“Too cool! How are the reviews?”

“Uh, no reviews, yet.”

“Really?”

“Yeah-- no reviews, yet.”

“Huh. Well, are you all set for your book tour?”

“No book tour yet.”

“And your publishing date is when?”

“Six weeks. I gotta tell you Marjory—you’re makin’ me a little nervous here.”

“Nah, don’t worry.”

Across the room was an event organizer in khaki directing people to their seats. He raised his microphone. Marjory moved to her seat, pressing her hands into mine.

“It’ll work out,” Marjory said, “I’m sure it will all come together.”

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

I then went for a walk. In the rain. To die.

Shiney, happy people

Over the next couple of weeks, my pal Allison began chipping away at the task of book-tour building.

Within a few weeks, it looked fairly respectable, and I started turning down invitations to social events because “I’d love to but, damn, I’m on my book tour.” During the tour-building process, one of the bookstore owners Allison pitched on hosting an event responded with a delightfully hilarious email. I’ll allow you to read it before I comment:

Allison,
Thanks for getting in touch with me about this. It's hard to believe that someone thought it would be better to hold multiple jobs where you're hardly paid enough to survive, much less save any money. His book brings to light how ignorant some people are in corporate America to what's actually happening to the other people around them. Has he not heard anything about "generation debt"? An entire generation of people with college degrees who are hardly able to find work that allows them to survive? That doesn't even compare to the multitudes of people who aren't even able to get a college degree and HAVE to work those simple jobs that he takes because they are caught in a system that won't allow them a chance to move up.
Is this even a realistic account of what life is like at minimum wage? If he was a corporate big shot he probaby (sic) would have savings that could carry him through the rest of his life even if he decided to sit around and fish for the rest of his years.
I do realize that I'm responding to this before I've read the book (emphasis added by me), and I am open to seeing what he has to say. This is my initial reaction to the book though, and I don't want other people to have the same reaction to an event we're having at our store. This is not a light issue, and if this book is making light of it and casting it in an unrealistic way, I'm not interested.
If you've read the book and think there are things I need to know, by all means, let me know! Thanks for contacting us and thinking of us for an event, I do appreciate it very much.

Hmm. Let’s go through these brilliant insights together, shall we?

It's hard to believe that someone thought it would be better to hold multiple jobs where you're hardly paid enough to survive, much less save any money. His book brings to light how ignorant some people are in corporate America to what's actually happening to the other people around them.
Did I just read that? Time to parry, methinks! I think this email is going to bring to light that some people in America are so pissed at the world that they don’t recognize humor when it hits them upside their wrinkled, bitter visage.

Has he not heard anything about "generation debt"? An entire generation of people with college degrees who are hardly able to find work that allows them to survive? No, but I have heard of dumb-ass debt. It’s the never-ending tale of 100,000 dumb-asses a year who attend college on student loans, don’t work while they’re in school, go on Spring Break with the rich kids as if it’s their right, then graduate with a completely useless degree like Eskimo History or Film Making. Hint: Unless you’re very lucky, college is four years of work, not fun… and the point of that work is to study in a field that will yield, well, work. Do you know a lot of unemployed engineers, pharmacists, or computer science majors? Yes, it’s painful that the Women’s Studies industry isn’t hiring at the moment, but the United States military is always looking for folks with a bachelor’s degree.

That doesn't even compare to the multitudes of people who aren't even able to get a college degree and HAVE to work those simple jobs that he takes because they are caught in a system that won't allow them a chance to move up.
Stop! Really? The system works against the little guy? Damn, I need to learn more about these minimum wage multitudes. A lot more. Maybe I’ll… I’ll… I know! I’ll take a year and go work minimum wage jobs! Note to self: Keep a diary or something.

Is this even a realistic account of what life is like at minimum wage?
Excellent question. But how could one uncover the answer? There must be some trick for unearthing the ideas buried between the front and back cover of a book. There must be some way to find out what it says! Think, Prioleau, think! She’s crying out for help! Must… crack… code!

If he was a corporate big shot he probably would have savings that could carry him through the rest of his life even if he decided to sit around and fish for the rest of his years.
That’s it! That’s the secret! You glance at the title, ignore the book jacket, overlook the review comments by insignificant writers like Pat Conroy, then project your very own wild conjecture into all those pages covered in confusing letters and squiggly marks!

I do realize that I'm responding to this before I've read the book, and I am open to seeing what he has to say.
Yes, certainly you are. Humorless, more-concerned-than-you types are often known for their open-mindedness, always willing to discuss ideas they find emotionally problematic in a calm, cool, reasonable, logic-and-reason driven manner. Let’s get together for a chat over fava bean salad and a nice Chianti.

This is my initial reaction to the book though, and I don't want other people to have the same reaction to an event we're having at our store. This is your initial reaction??!!
My God, then why go further? Your emotions have spoken, and what you feel is the way things are!

This is not a light issue, and if this book is making light of it and casting it in an unrealistic way, I'm not interested.
In fact, I’m going to hold my breath until everyone agrees with the things I feel.

If you've read the book and think there are things I need to know, by all means, let me know!
That way, I can feel superior to you by passively-aggressively getting you to invest more of your time on my behalf, then feel superior (times infinity) (no takes back) by refusing to accept your added commentary.

Thanks for contacting us and thinking of us for an event, I do appreciate it very much.
In the future, however, please know I am only interested in books on (or by) people who are dysfunctional, persecuted, defeated, disabled, depressed, or diseased. When I read, I like to feel good about myself feeling emotional on their behalf.

My insights are needed, damnit.

Another event which transpired during the book-tour construction process was a request from a famous on-line newspaper/blog for a piece about the country’s dire economic situation, and how it ties into my book.

Allison shot me an email and requested I write something up-- perhaps offer advice on how to make the best of a minimum wage situation.

So that means what?

A how-to article on suicide?

A quick course in stealing fries when the manager is doing paperwork?

Besides, my knowledge of the economy + the relevance of my book + the number of my libertarian views that jive with this on-line newspaper = Zero. Less that zero, to borrow a phrase from Bret Easton Ellis.

But, hey— complete cluelessness never stopped me before! I wrote up my thoughts, careful to avoid stepping on any sensitive, political toes. This was accomplished the only way it could be: By insulting everyone. Here’s the piece:

Economic update, my friends: The American financial world is doing its best Hindenburg impersonation, managing to crash and burn simultaneously, set to the background sounds of Wall Street’s finest minds wailing, “Oh, the humanity!”

Offering a counter-punch with a brilliance usually reserved only for the likes of FEMA, The Fed has rallied the troops and deployed them into the breach like the 300 Spartans at Thermopylae-- grim, determined, and—if necessary—ready to stop the advance of the Recessians by printing enough new dollars to physically clog those Gates of Fire.

Meanwhile, Bear Stearns has managed to live up to its name quite literally, redefining the concept of a “Bear” market while foundering Stearn-first in the icy waters off the Cape of No Hope.

Back on The Street, martinis are once again the lunch of choice, as investment bankers ponder the question of who’s sucking down their milkshake.

Leaders, of course, have emerged to guide us through the crisis: Barrack has stepped into the role of parrot-in-chief with his (never-ever-ever ending) message of Hope and Change, while Hillary is Hoping voters will Change their minds, while John McCain is Hoping someone will Change the subject back to foreign policy.

And you? You’re either sick of it all, or you’re sick with worry that the whole charade will result in you losing your job.

In fact, things are so lousy that some of you are even beginning to bump up against the daydream where you chuck it all, simplify, and live a life like that dude from Kung Fu. You might even be pondering the actual importance of your chosen profession, an introspective exercise exacerbated by the fact that it all seems to be spiraling down the drain. The haunting words of white-collar America’s secret little fantasy are starting to make sense: What would happen, really, if you walked away from the rat race?

Well, I can tell you. I’ve been there—I quit my white-collar job, and launched into the Buffettesque life of minimum wage jobs, rum drinks, sunsets, and stress-free living.

And speaking from first-hand experience, here’s a brief look at what will happen: Homeowner’s insurance, car insurance, life insurance, flood insurance, personal articles insurance, catastrophic health insurance, prescriptions, home taxes, car taxes, car repairs, home repairs, water bill, electric bill, phone bill, DSL connection, cell phone bill, pest control, termite control, vet bills, and IRA/HSA savings. And if you have kids? You’d need to re-watch the last twenty minutes of Apocalypse, Now to even comprehend the horror.

Reality check, ladies and gentlemen: It’s time to stop with the daydreaming, and get back into that corporate, capitalist combat and go frickin’ Rambo.

This economy means one thing: There will be blood, and you need to make sure it isn’t yours.

Your level of obsequiousness should make Dwight Schrute look aloof and apathetic.

Your quest for company profits should make Gordon Gecko look like Santa Claus. Your sense for vulnerability and weakness within the company herd must evolve to the point where those Discovery Channel lionesses look like Tickle-Me Elmo.

Are you getting the message here? The coin is going to get tossed, and you must choose your fate: You can be the tosser, or you can call it, Friendo.

When I walked away from my safe and secure white-collar life, I had an understanding wife. She somehow related to my need to slip free from the surly bonds of security, and I felt we were one on the topic… we would cut back, and live on just the necessities until our finances demanded more income

Problem. Men and women have different definitions of necessities. Men have a short list: Beer. Women have a longer list, which includes things like groceries, haircuts, date nights, cleaning bills, and charitable giving. Women also do not buy the argument that beer is groceries, and that if you drink enough of it you won’t notice that the cupboard is bare, your hair is a mess, and your clothes look like hell. In addition, drinking beer is a “date night” in and of itself, and giving one to the wino outside the 7-11 on the way to the car is charitable giving.

Yes, men and women differ on necessities… and women always win the argument, because it’s tough to argue with someone who won’t speak to you.

I’d barely sipped my first stress-free rum drink before I was working minimum wage jobs. Good honest labor… perhaps where you’ll end up if you fail to fight hard enough to conquer the co-workers around you: PizzaMan, Ice Cream Scooper, Construction Laborer, ER Tech, Burger World Cashier, and even a stint as a Cowboy.

And through the experience I learned something very important, and very meaningful. It is simply this: Sitting in pointless-but-air-conditioned meetings is a pretty sweet to pay the frickin’ bills.

Don’t believe me? Then go your own way. Like I said, it’s your call. Friendo.

Rejected!

Maybe it’s just me and my Southern fried buddies, and the way we all grew up together, forcing each other to develop semi-thick skin, but-- damn if feelings haven’t gotten awful fragile here in the Land of the Free. Apparently the piece you just read is too mean to Barrack Obama-- the man who it currently appears will be the leader of the Free World.

My publisher (wisely) rejected it outright, and informed me that the readers of this on-line newspaper are huge Obama fans.

And while I certainly appreciate my smart editor for protecting me from my stupid self, I am forced to ask: Ain’t it going to get a lot rougher for Barrack? If elected, he will be burned in effigy; he will have assassins plotting to murder him and his family; he will have armies of corporate spin doctors and journalists questioning his intelligence, fidelity to his wife, and judgment regarding his choice of spiritual advisers.

He will be hated with murderous rage by half the world’s population. But, yours truly made light of his message of hope and change, and for his legions of followers, this would apparently trigger a response of book-burning proportions. My editor, however, is Gandolf to my Frodo, so I provided a re-write. Here it is:

With the possible exception of the tenured English professors, everyone in the United States is aware that the nation’s economic indicators are pointing towards that little slice of the pie chart that states, “Everyone Panic.” As a result, corporations are downsizing, and thousands of people are hyperventilating every time they so much as see someone from HR on their floor.

Now, let’s be real: If you are reading the articles on this professional blog, chances are pretty good you are a fully-functioning, valuable member of your corporate team. However, the chances are also good you have a friend or lunch-buddy somewhere in the company who isn’t quite getting the big picture. You know, a good soul and fun person, but not exactly burning the midnight oil when it comes to self-improvement and corporate goal achievement. Might even be a little cavalier about their job and the economy, because they assume there’s an opportunity waiting right outside the corporate front door. They think they could deliver pizzas, right? Work construction? Scoop ice cream? How bad can that be?

Pretty bad.

I know, because like your cavalier friend I assumed the grass was greener elsewhere, and seeking to simplify my life I hopped off the white-collar carousel… and landed head first in the minimum wage world. Wikipedia now has my photo under the section entitled “Bad Decisions of Biblical Proportions.”

During my year in the minimum wage world, I managed to achieve two primary things: I wrote a book about the experience, and I developed a corporate success plan for if-and-when I clawed my way back onto that wondrous white-collar merry-go-round. But once I had the plan in place, I needed a way to test it.

Enter a good friend of mine, Fred Johnson, who told me, “I’m going to get canned, Man. I know it. My position is picture-perfect for out-sourcing. You gotta give me some advice, Man!”

“What do you do at the company?” I asked.

“Not much,” he replied.

“Can you volunteer for more responsibility?” I asked.

“What? And really work?”

He was my kind of guy. And that’s when I explained my theories and plans, and Fred was just desperate enough to implement them. Now please understand—my plans aren’t for people with real ambition and drive: It’s for people like Fred, and your cavalier friend, and, well, me. People who want to seem vital, without actually doing the work necessary to be vital.

So; the Plan:

Step one: Root through your office and create a stack of important-looking folders, spreadsheets, and stapled reports. This foot-thick stack of papers will be known to you as your “football,” and what’s actually in your football is of no real consequence. If you are so far down the food chain that you have no paper files in your office, don’t sweat it: A perfectly suitable football can be gathered quickly and easily out of the recycling bin.

With your official looking football assembled, you have a new job: Show up, grab it, and go! Ride the elevators. Stride the halls briskly. Accidentally walk in on big meetings. Walk out to your car, take an iTunes break, and walk back. The point is perpetual motion, and face time with the big boys.

Here’s a page out of Fred’s diary, which he began keeping on my recommendation. It was the perfect day:

7 a.m. – Arrived at office in blue suit. Grabbed football, and went to cafeteria. Faked asleep, and was awoken by V.P. of Marketing. Told him I’d pulled an all-nighter.

7-9 a.m. – Ate a leisurely breakfast while pretending to read papers, waved to 7 V.P.s, and spoke to CFO.

9-10 a.m. – Napped in car.

10-11:30 a.m. – Made first round of building. Conversations with 2 V.P.s, CEO’s assistant, and Manager of Sales. Rode elevator with C.O.O., and pretended not to notice him while I pored over papers. He told me to keep up the good work.

11:30-12 noon – Delivered a pizza and a fattie to the boys in the mailroom. Talked them into letting me deliver the CEO’s mail.

Noon-1 p.m. – Walked in on Executive Committee’s lunch meeting. Said, “Sorry! I’m not supposed to be in here--yet!” CEO laughed. CTO gave thumbs up.

1-2 p.m. – Napped in broom closet

2-4 p.m. – Rushed around building. Fumbled football in front of V.P. of Sales--muttered that I shouldn’t be so clumsy with “valuable company property.” We made eye contact, and he nodded.

4-5 p.m. – Downtime, as execs are all holed up in their offices doing actual work. Reset computer clock and formatting for end-of-the-day email blast.

5-6 p.m. – Sat on briefcase in lobby, and played Halo III my laptop. Nodded to 14 execs as they left.

6-6:30 p.m. – Launched computer program to send out emails between 11:30 and midnight to all V.P.s and executive committee staff.

Friends, do you see? Fred didn’t just give the company his time; he gave it to them wisely. In the past 12 months he has survived 4 rounds of layoffs at his Fortune 100 Company, not because he’s vital… it’s because he appears to be vital. Can’t you hear HR discussing him?

HR Axe Man: What about the Johnson guy. Redundant?

HR V.P.: I don’t know what he does, but he busts it.

HR Director: Yup, and the Boss likes him.

Asst to CFO: No, the boss loves him. You better have a good reason for canning him.

HR Axe Man: Okay, Johnson stays. Who’s next?

Of course if you get too many of these folks, the corporation suffers. But your friend? The lunch-buddy? Who’s it gonna hurt? Pass the word along to him or her, and we’ll keep it among us friends. And if I end up working for you? Hey, just consider “looking the other way” as your payment for the concept. If you’re nice, I’ll mention you in my midnight emails.

Well that’s it for now. But fortunately for you, this isn’t my only blog on the topic. I’ll be back, with more corporate wisdom on relating to superiors and subordinates, and the secret to your friend achieving invisibility should they accidentally get promoted.

Until then, just tell your pal to remember the irrefutable law of the jungle: You don’t have to be the fastest gazelle. You just need to be able to outrun the sick, old and lame.