Charitable Getting: Chapter Three
Jan. 18th, 2010 01:22 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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originalsam_backupETA 10/1/10: This is a FIRST DRAFT of Charitable Getting. Please see this post for the index to the second and most current draft.
CHAPTER THREE
Intern Day was a traumatic day for everyone. It happened three or four times a year, and whenever new interns came into the office Jess made sure to bring a box of tissues, a couple of energy bars, and a bottle of gin for later. Sometimes she was tempted to give the gin to the interns, but "SparkVISION Plies Underagers With Alcohol" was such an unattractive-sounding headline.
Jess truly loved working with youth. The existence of her job had been Sparks's idea; after being mugged by a young man at knifepoint a few years ago, he'd become fascinated with the idea of harnessing all that energy for fundraising events and solicitations (sans knives). Rounding up interested -- and sometimes uninterested -- kids, getting them to sign up for events and find sponsors, getting schools to agree to give them credit for it, and getting them really into philanthropy -- that was Jess's job, and she had the rare patience and good humor to do it without developing an ulcer.
Intern Day was the one day that tried her serenity, the day where "working with the kids" and "working with my co-workers" crossed over in unsettling ways. Hence, the gin.
Still, it beat teaching at private schools that required her to wear skirts in the middle of Chicago winter and didn't let her dye her hair blue (and green and pink and yellow).
"All right, everyone," she said, walking into the lobby. "Interns?"
Seven bright, youthful faces turned to her. Well, six; one young man was texting furiously on his phone. She walked forward, leaned over his shoulder, and pretended to read out, "I'm so excited to be working for SparkVISION that I completely forgot my manners."
About halfway through, he started and slammed his phone shut, looking up wildly. There was the distinct sound of a snicker from the direction of Ian's desk.
"Great, now that I have everyone's attention, I'm reminded to announce that there is no texting, calling, or e-mailing during Internship Hours," she said, looking around to see who immediately looked annoyed, and making a note to keep an eye on them.
"Here are your orientation packets," she added, handing out glossy, bright orange folders with SparkVISION's vaguely triangular logo blazoned boldly across it in black. "Inside you'll find all the paperwork you need -- we have some press-releases, a guide to the website...if you need to get class credit there's a form for that. If you need a certification of community service hours -- "
She looked up just in time to catch Ian throw a crumpled-up ball of paper across the room. It hit one of the interns square in the forehead, and the girl looked up quickly from her phone.
" -- and also if any of you are allergic to projectiles, there's a slip to inform us of that. Bear in mind SparkVISION cannot be held responsible for injuries sustained due to uncontrollable text-messaging, and we do not provide workman's comp," she continued. "You also each get one nifty SparkVISION logo pen with which to fill out those forms. Try not to lose it."
"I don't think mine came with one," said one boy in jeans (and loafers, for the full-on fashion lose).
"We'll find you one after the tour. Everyone on your feet and follow me!" Jess said cheerfully. "You've met Ian; he's our gatekeeper. This way!"
Interns always followed her in one of two ways, depending on the mood of the group and sometimes who the natural group leader was. Most common was the Flock of Geese, a loose crowd which made getting around the tour very difficult, and usually resulted in the shortest person being at the back. This time they favored Baby Ducks: following in single file, with a decent distance between bodies.
"Staff kitchen here," she said, gesturing to the little cubby with its multiple coffee machines, fridge, sink, and the ubiquitous office microwave, covered in obscure stains and dubious dents. "Refill the machine if you drink the last cup of coffee, don't steal food from the fridge, label your own food clearly, and wash any cups or plates you bring in. Failure to follow these directives will result in the amputation of a hand."
Half of the interns looked back down the hall at Ian's desk, and the very obvious cast on his arm.
"This is the Creative pod; you might be spending some time here," Jess said, turning them in the other direction. "That's Zoe, our graphics queen and digital arts master; John's around here somewhere, he and Anna -- this is Anna -- are our writers. PR mostly, some speeches, ad copy."
Zoe glanced up from doing a pamphlet layout and waved with a bright, welcoming smile; Anna peered at them suspiciously around her computer monitor.
"Copier room! Fax and scale and staff mailboxes are in here..." Jess tried the door and then jumped back, startled, when it opened on its own. John emerged, carrying his coat in one hand. Cee, behind him, looked around his arm and turned slightly pink.
"There's John!" Jess said cheerfully.
"The toner," John said.
"The copier's very delicate," Jess told the interns. "Cee's the only one who knows how to fix it. This is Cee, she's Mr. Sparks's PA. If she asks you to do something, drop whatever you're doing and do it. She knows how to swear in Russian."
"Da," Cee agreed, slinking along the wall back towards Sparks's office.
"Around the corner is our file storage area," Jess said, leading them onwards. "Tech desk, that's Roxy's domain, don't touch anything. Spare cubes -- you'll live here if you live long enough. Events supply storage, conference room..." she led them on a loop, past the rear entry to the elevators and back around. "This is Financial. Hi Naomi!"
Naomi looked as if Jess had just tracked something disgusting in off the street.
"Naomi has many minions, so you probably won't be working with her -- she handles all the money and makes sure none of us skim off the top," Jess grinned, turning another corner. "And we're back at Legal, which you saw on your way in. We have three lawyers who you will probably never see -- they handle contracts and investments and make sure we don't say anything stupid, and if any of us get arrested they'll probably get us a reduced sentence in court. Sarah is their keeper. Get comfortable here, because Sarah's going to break you -- I mean, break you in for us," she added, as they arrived at Sarah's desk. Sarah herself was leaning back in her chair, looking smug and just a little carnivorous.
"And this is where I leave you," Jess finished. "Sarah will explain a few more office ground rules and then send one or two of you back to me. The rest will be working here today."
"Hello, interns!" Sarah said cheerfully. Jess backed away, stopped one young man when he tried to follow her, and retreated to a strategic position near Cee's desk, across from Ian, where she could hear everything.
"Jess is a very nice person, as I'm sure you know," Sarah began. Ian crept away from his desk to listen in, keeping one eye on the elevators. "She's so nice that she tends to forget to tell you the realities of office work, especially for those of you who are the lowest rung. Actually, you're more like the skid-stops on the ladder. Nice to have, but not strictly necessary."
"They are if you're me," Ian murmured. Jess saw Cee hide a laugh.
"I'm sure you've all had jobs before," Sarah said, her voice dripping with the implication that any of them who hadn't held jobs had led a spoiled existence. "But just in case, let me refresh everyone's memory."
"I love this part," Cee whispered.
"It's almost nine o'clock," Ian whispered back. "If two of them cry in the next ten minutes I win the pool."
"This is not school," Sarah announced. "On time doesn't mean sliding into your seat as the bell rings. On time means fifteen minutes early. You can't skip, you can't be late, and you especially can't be late because you were out partying last night. A note from mommy will not help you."
"I feel so bad," Jess said.
"Kind of like baby just took his first steps and now he's toddling into the shark tank?" Ian suggested.
"More like throwing cocker spaniels through a shredder," Jess remarked sadly.
"Oh, that's a good one," Cee agreed.
"We expect you to work without someone holding your hand," Sarah continued. "You don't get a cookie for doing something right, because doing it right is the minimum expectation. We do expect you to ask questions, because I'd rather have you ask ten questions and do it right the first time than have you muddle through on your own and do it wrong -- and then have to do it again -- and have to do it twice as fast because it still has to get done on schedule."
Question Mark Girl's lip trembled. Jess sighed.
"This is a real business that affects real people. There are no extensions or make up credits or do overs. There's no such thing as not having any work to do; when you're done with something, go to whoever you're assigned to, or one of the admins, or me, because we will always have something for you to do. The more you volunteer to help out, the more you'll learn, and the easier it will get."
One of the boys in the back grabbed his pocket; apparently the urge to text was strong in that one. Jess, Ian, and Cee all held their breath to see if he would actually take out his phone and be eviscerated by Sarah, but he steadied himself and slowly let go.
"Who knows?" Sarah said, with the kind of mock cheer that only Sparks could match with real cheer. "You might even have fun!"
***
"Okay, how does this work?" Erin said, peering at the laptop on the conference-room table. Well, more peering past it, to the plastic plate of food nearby. "Is that bacon?"
"Yes it is," Roxy replied, pulling the plate of bacon and eggs just out of reach. Erin gazed at it longingly. "It's breakfast, get your own."
"That's a lot of bacon," Erin pointed out.
"I'm low-carbing. Metabolisms slow down in the thirties. Now, you put your PowerPoint up on the screen like so..."
Erin reached for the plate, and Roxy slapped her hand warningly.
"...and the viewers will see everything on the screen. I'll be right here in case anything goes wrong. Just click the mouse to advance the slide. Did you do fancy fade-outs?"
"Should I have done fancy fade-outs?" Erin asked, suddenly terrified.
"No, they look cheap."
"I love bacon," Erin said wistfully.
"Eat a bagel and come back when you're my age," Roxy retorted. "You talk into the phone -- do you want a headset?"
"Very science-fiction," Erin announced, fitting the headset over her hair. "Or very much like I'm a telephone operator from the forties. Crap, is that my first slide?" she added, as PowerPoint appeared on the screen.
"When you're ready I'll dial you in," Roxy continued, looking slightly desperate.
"I have to rearrange my slides. This one should be first," Erin continued, frantically trying to drag and drop the slides around. "What if Sparks rings the gong while I'm giving the webinar?"
"Breathe deep and keep talking," Roxy said, trying to keep Erin from shifting the phone hub and laptop cord. "Whatever you do, don't giggle. Nothing more obnoxious than someone giggling on the phone."
There was a knock on the door, and Roxy looked up as Hanna put her head in.
"Boss wants to talk to you about flash animation when you're done here," she said. Erin, sensing her opportunity while Roxy was looking at Hanna, walked her fingers forward towards the plate.
"It's going to be an hour," Roxy said. "Erin needs me."
Target acquired. Contact made. Now to withdraw stealthily.
"Cee says that's good," Hanna said, speaking perhaps faster than was necessary. "Because then he might get distracted and if he gets distracted three times he tends to forget things so if we can just put him off for one more day he'll give up on the, uh, sockpuppet theater idea or anyway he'll stop thinking it should be animated."
Erin tried to chew quietly.
"It smells like bacon in here, by the way. Okay, uh, I'll come get you when you're done," Hanna said, and left. Erin wanted to swallow, but the fear of bacon shrapnel overwhelmed. As Roxy turned back, in a sort of hellish slow-motion, Erin stopped chewing.
Roxy looked at Erin's face, and then at the plate of bacon and eggs.
"I swear to God, I'm going to leave you alone with your webinar," Roxy said severely.
Erin chewed a few times, swallowed, and made pleading eyes.
"Fine. I shouldn't even do this," Roxy sighed, reaching into her bag. Erin eyed the rest of the bacon, but Roxy straightened before she could make another illegal grab. "Remember, when you're doing a webinar, you're speaking to one person. The viewers aren't sitting in an auditorium at McCormick Place, they can't talk to each other."
Erin stared as a small stuffed tiger was plonked down next to the laptop.
"Talk to Binks," Roxy ordered. "Ready?"
"Binks?" Erin asked.
Roxy reached around the monitor and hit the button to cue up the intro song.
I want a hippopotamus for Christmas
Only a hippopotamus will do...
Sparks' idea, Erin mouthed at Roxy, who nodded knowingly as the music began to fade. Roxy gave her the "you're on!" finger-point, and Erin felt herself lean forward, even though the microphone was affixed to her head.
"Good morning!" she said brightly. "Welcome to SparkVISION's first client webinar! We're bringing these to you throughout the very busy end-of-year giving season to try and present some new ideas and to prepare you for the rest of the year. Today I'm going to be talking to you about the internet's place in your fundraising strategy. If you've been following the news this weekend, you'll have heard about The Home Fund and the problems it's currently having with the internet..."
***
By Tuesday night, Internpocalypse had passed. To everyone's surprise, Zoe won the pool with a bet on "four at four pm" though Sparks had to mediate a dispute over whether tears of rage counted as "crying". They were down to three new interns plus Hanna and, to celebrate, Zoe was blowing her winnings on alcohol and sushi boats for the SparkVISION staff.
Beermaki was technically a sushi bar but, unlike most of the downtown sushi places, it was heavy on the bar. Walking in, it looked like every other mid-range beer joint in Chicago, maybe even a little shabbier than most: low curtains on the windows, taps at the bar, and a digital jukebox in the corner. Only the sushi chefs at the little glassed-in counter next to the bar betrayed its other, more delicious function. Sparks had originally found it, he refused to tell the story of how, and each new employee inducted into SparkVISION's family was sworn to secrecy about it.
The interns, at least those that remained, had been sent away from work. The rest of the staff had evacuated to their bar.
"Seriously," Ian was saying to Sarah, gesturing with chopsticks. "How do you do it?"
"You said you didn't want to be a mistress of the black arts," Sarah replied.
"It was mostly the mistress part," Ian admitted.
"It's not hard. It's just reading people," Sarah said, adjusting her glasses as she settled into an explication of her methods. "You put the girl in the impractical high heels in the file room moving dirty boxes and cleaning binders and shredding. You send the nervous one to the lawyers to abuse. The ambitious ones get to file things all alone, all day long, and the weasels get to serial-stamp documents. Jess already told them they can't tweet or text or whatever -- "
"SOCIAL MEDIA. DO A SHOT," Erin announced. "That's how I got through making a webinar slideshow all weekend. I played the Non Prophet Drinking Game too. Every time you use a buzzword you get to sip your beer."
"Then you tell them you're not going to insult their intelligence by showing them how to work the equipment, and sit back and see which ones are smart enough to ask anyway," Naomi added. "Or you just give them the Look."
"The Look?" Sparks asked, seating himself next to Naomi. Naomi Looked at him. "What? What'd I do?"
"That Look," Naomi said.
"Kids are always guilty of something. You give them the Look," Sarah agreed. "Where's the spicy tuna?"
John levered a piece of spicy tuna roll off his plate and onto hers. "I've never been happier I never had to intern."
"All right," Sparks said, setting a bottle of beer on the table. "With this microbrew, I call the meeting to order."
"We're meeting?" Zoe whispered to Anna. "Does that mean Sparks can pick up the tab?"
"You're paying for my handroll," Anna said.
"We are gathered here to divvy up the remaining three interns and put a plan in place for when one of them inevitably abandons ship in a few weeks. I'd like to begin by saying thank you to Sarah; as always, you are our finest acid test."
"I'm going to break Question Mark Girl if it's the last thing I do," Sarah said. "I can't believe she made the cut."
"Really? You can't believe it? But she worked really hard? Even though her shoes were inappropriate?" Cee asked. Sarah threatened her with chopsticks.
"I'd also like to congratulate John, Ian, and myself on a very successful Movember Moustache Fundraiser -- I don't think I've ever been so relieved to be clean-shaven as I was after getting rid of my epic pornstache," Sparks continued. "And thank you, ladies, for your end-of-month show of solidarity with the fake moustaches."
"I might grow mine back, I was getting fond of it," John said.
"It suited you," Zoe agreed. "Don't grow your hair again, though, you look so nice with it short. Cee, don't you think the mustache suited him?"
"I didn't really notice," Cee said airily.
"Now, that's old business put to rest," Sparks continued. "New business. Three interns. What are their names?" he asked Cee.
"Question Mark Girl, Rhinestone Shoe Boy, and The Other Guy," Cee said.
"Wow. Kids of hippies, huh?" Sparks grinned. "Okay. Question Mark Girl. Naomi -- "
"I reject your interns," Naomi said. "I reject them wholesale. I have no use for anyone who can't do double-entry book-keeping."
"Isn't that illegal?" Roxy asked.
"That's double-book-keeping," Naomi sighed. "We don't want an intern."
"Well, we do," Zoe said. "Anna needs someone new to shout at, and I can't constantly be pricing print jobs and designing them at the same time."
"Rhinestone Shoe Boy, what's his deal?" Sparks asked.
"He stamped stuff all day. He might even have smiled a little," Sarah said. "We know he's a good unitasker. Question Mark Girl would be better for the Creatives. They won't notice her unfortunate conversational tic."
"Hey!" John frowned. "I'd notice."
"You'd notice the rhinestones more, I don't want you distracted by sparkle," Anna said.
"Look, I'm not some idiot who gets sidetracked by every shiny thing I see," John retorted.
"Okay, before the Your Mom lines start, I'm making an executive decision," Sparks announced. "Sarah gets Question Mark Girl in the mornings. Creative gets her in the afternoons and if she snaps and runs away screaming, well, you'll have only yourselves to blame. Sarah can have Rhinestone Shoe Boy in the afternoons. Who needs him in the mornings?"
"Until we know what he's capable of, I'd like to keep him around," Jess said. "Hanna can show him how to do stuff and if he fails there we'll shove him off on Erin, she can teach him to fetch and play dead."
"That would impress our clients," Erin pointed out.
"Done and done. This management thing is way easier than the movies make it look," Sparks remarked. "Now, who's this The Other Guy?"
"He kept looking at his phone and twitching," Hanna offered. "Can I have some spider roll?"
"Why doesn't Hanna have a beer?" Sparks demanded suddenly.
"She's nineteen," Ian said.
"The Other Guy," Cee reminded Sparks gently.
"Sure. So. Who needs an intern?" Sparks asked. Silence reigned. "Why did we hire seven interns?"
"We thought it'd be like the group Hanna came with," Ian said.
"You know. There can be only one," Anna added.
"Is...is that from Survivor?" Hanna asked. Anna sighed deeply. "What did I do?"
"It's from Highlander. I'll lend you the DVDs," Zoe told her gently.
"Naomi has very graciously given up her intern and there are no other takers?" Sparks asked.
"I didn't give him up! I rejected him. Actively. I declined to employ," Naomi said.
"Ian? Cee?"
"Don't need one," Ian mumbled, around a mouthful of sushi.
"No place to put one," Cee agreed.
"I could probably give him a few days winding cords," Roxy volunteered. "If he doesn't go insane, he might be able to help out on the website."
"Then I consider the matter closed," Sparks declared.
"Before we move on to new new business, I'm stepping outside," Anna said. John set his chopsticks aside, gave Ian a suspicious look, and licked the sushi on his plate to ensure nobody stole it. Zoe pushed her chair back and followed.
Outside, under the Beermaki awning and pressed up against the hotel-next-door's plexiglass barrier, Anna lit a cigarette and exhaled considerately away from them.
"So when you go back in there, I need you to make my excuses," she started.
"Why? Are you staying out here?" John asked.
"It'd keep the sushi cold," Zoe said thoughtfully.
"No, I have to run. Union Arms is meeting me for drinks," Anna said. "Everyone's going to tease me."
"Yeah, I can see that," John said. "I feel strongly I should tease you right now."
"Anna's got a booooyfriend, Anna's got a sugar-daddy," Zoe sing-songed.
"You have a Master's degree in the arts and all you can manage is 'Anna's got a sugar daddy'?" Anna asked.
"It's in digital design, not musical composition," Zoe protested.
"Have you ever had cosmos in the Trump Tower bar?" Anna asked. "It's like twenty dollars just to breathe the air there."
"Are you changing before you meet up? Do you own a revealing dress?" John asked.
"Though, not too revealing," Zoe advised. "Make him work a little."
"I stashed it this morning. I'm going to run back to the office, change in the bathroom, and meet him at Pioneer Plaza," Anna said. "We who are about to freeze to death in a short dress salute you."
"He must be pretty high up in the food chain," Zoe remarked, "if he can afford to take you to the Trump bar for your third date."
"Specially since I've already put out," Anna agreed, exhaling a cloud of smoke, talking over John's groaned Here we go again. "But you know, why shouldn't people who work in the charitable sector make good money?"
"I'm not saying they shouldn't, I never said they shouldn't," John said. "I'm just saying, when people are giving you something for nothing, it looks weird to be living the high life. Ordinary working people don't buy twenty-dollar cosmos."
"Yeah, but what if that's what it takes to keep a great fundraiser in the game?" Anna asked. "Say you pay someone a million dollars and they raise three million. Isn't that better than paying someone fifty thousand and they only raise sixty thousand?"
"I'm sure if I were a mathematician I could refute something in your logic," Zoe said.
"I'm just saying, if Union Arms is earning his keep, I don't see why he shouldn't be paid commensurate with his abilities."
"Look, nobody has to be an idealist, but if you don't go into charitable giving with at least a feeling that philanthropy is the right thing to do, it goes nowhere positive," John said. "And if you're making millions of dollars at it, and you don't believe in it...I just think it's a slippery slope, that's all."
"A slippery slope into a delicious dirty martini with gold flecks floating in it," Anna said, stubbing out her cigarette. "Tell 'em I had to go save puppies or something."
"At least he's spending it in the community," Zoe said, as she and John walked back inside.
"I want a martini with gold flecks in it," John sulked.
"I think you could get beer in a martini glass..."
***
Date: Wednesday, 12/09/09
Subject: Haven't You Always Wanted A Monkey?
Hey, you guys remember when BNL wrote interesting lyrics?
I long for those simpler days.
I was a teenager and the internet was in its infancy. The word 'blog' didn't exist. I had an e-mail pen-pal who sent me a bootlegged audio cassette of Gordon, which contained the original cut of their iconic song "If I Had A Million Dollars". It encapsulated every wistful daydream we had. It was a time when they really didn't make pre-wrapped bacon. It would be years before I would even know that Accidental Dismemberment Insurance existed, or what a 401(k) was.
Now, of course, I have a 401(k) and a PPO health plan. I'm seriously considering the accidental dismemberment insurance, and there's pre-wrapped vegan bacon in my freezer.
I make good money doing what I do, and I do it for a 501(c)(3) organization -- the kind that sends you letters with huge-eyed starving children or puppies or fluffy owl chicks included. They pay me a living wage and are happy to have me, because I'm damn good at my job.
The problem with hearing that coming from the mouth of a not-for-profit employee is that people get angry I'm not earning a bare minimum living wage (you all know that minimum wage is not a living wage, right?) so that more money can go to the fluffy starving owl puppies. Don't get me wrong, I love the fluffy starving owl puppies and I want to save them all, but a prophet's gotta get paid, baby. Non needs his vegan bacon.
I'm not a vegan, by the way, I just think food made to look like other food is funny.
Most people will still accept that in order to keep a skilled pool of talent, you have to pay them competitive rates. Otherwise there's high turnover and burnout and low-dedication I-just-need-a-job-ers filling the ranks of the not-for-profits. If you explain it to them, they take a second to think about it and acknowledge that okay, maybe that extra few percentage points in the cash output breakdown really should go to administrative costs. So that's ok, right?
Here's my problem: what do you do when this concept of competitive pay works its way up to the management level, and past that to the executive level? The CEO of a large for-profit corporation can expect to make seven or eight figures if his company is prospering. He's a capitalist, that's his right (though I personally think it's sketchy and probably speaks to issues of insecurity). Should the CEO of a similarly successful not-for-profit be paid competitively? How do you measure the worth of an executive? Should people who "really believe" in their charitable activity earn less because they have a deep sense of their mission? Doesn't that seem a little in the vein of religious masochism?
And is it fair that I get paid what I'm worth in any job, while my boss gets underpaid compared to his for-profit peers just because a million dollars seems like a lot of fucking money?
When I try to grapple with these issues, I think about Barenaked Ladies (I know that sounds pornographic, just go with it). I think about all the things they wanted to give their imaginary perfect woman in order to buy her love.
If I had a million dollars,
We wouldn't have to eat Kraft Dinner --
But we would eat Kraft Dinner...?
Of course we would. We'd just eat more.
In a pure sense of scale, yes, my boss should earn what he's worth. He should be paid competitively not only because it's fair, but because otherwise he has no motivation to stay. The problem is that we don't live in a world of pure scale; we live in a world made up primarily of public image.
Plainly put: it looks bad when you tell your donors that you need to raise a thousand dollars to protect the owl puppy hatcheries, and two days later they see the head of your company wearing a Rolex. The immediate reaction is to say, "Save the owl puppies your own damn self". The secondary reaction is to inquire just what the boss does for the company, and what he actually earns, and why. And that's just a carload of stress that no 501(c)(3) needs.
All of this leaves us with three options:
1. Pay the boss what she's worth and damn the consequences;
2. Underpay the boss and risk turnover and burnout;
3. Pay the boss what he's worth, but prohibit him from ever spending any of it.
You can see why I yearn for my youth, when having a million dollars meant you could buy someone a green dress. (But not a real green dress. That's cruel.)
***
Chapter Four
CHAPTER THREE
Intern Day was a traumatic day for everyone. It happened three or four times a year, and whenever new interns came into the office Jess made sure to bring a box of tissues, a couple of energy bars, and a bottle of gin for later. Sometimes she was tempted to give the gin to the interns, but "SparkVISION Plies Underagers With Alcohol" was such an unattractive-sounding headline.
Jess truly loved working with youth. The existence of her job had been Sparks's idea; after being mugged by a young man at knifepoint a few years ago, he'd become fascinated with the idea of harnessing all that energy for fundraising events and solicitations (sans knives). Rounding up interested -- and sometimes uninterested -- kids, getting them to sign up for events and find sponsors, getting schools to agree to give them credit for it, and getting them really into philanthropy -- that was Jess's job, and she had the rare patience and good humor to do it without developing an ulcer.
Intern Day was the one day that tried her serenity, the day where "working with the kids" and "working with my co-workers" crossed over in unsettling ways. Hence, the gin.
Still, it beat teaching at private schools that required her to wear skirts in the middle of Chicago winter and didn't let her dye her hair blue (and green and pink and yellow).
"All right, everyone," she said, walking into the lobby. "Interns?"
Seven bright, youthful faces turned to her. Well, six; one young man was texting furiously on his phone. She walked forward, leaned over his shoulder, and pretended to read out, "I'm so excited to be working for SparkVISION that I completely forgot my manners."
About halfway through, he started and slammed his phone shut, looking up wildly. There was the distinct sound of a snicker from the direction of Ian's desk.
"Great, now that I have everyone's attention, I'm reminded to announce that there is no texting, calling, or e-mailing during Internship Hours," she said, looking around to see who immediately looked annoyed, and making a note to keep an eye on them.
"Here are your orientation packets," she added, handing out glossy, bright orange folders with SparkVISION's vaguely triangular logo blazoned boldly across it in black. "Inside you'll find all the paperwork you need -- we have some press-releases, a guide to the website...if you need to get class credit there's a form for that. If you need a certification of community service hours -- "
She looked up just in time to catch Ian throw a crumpled-up ball of paper across the room. It hit one of the interns square in the forehead, and the girl looked up quickly from her phone.
" -- and also if any of you are allergic to projectiles, there's a slip to inform us of that. Bear in mind SparkVISION cannot be held responsible for injuries sustained due to uncontrollable text-messaging, and we do not provide workman's comp," she continued. "You also each get one nifty SparkVISION logo pen with which to fill out those forms. Try not to lose it."
"I don't think mine came with one," said one boy in jeans (and loafers, for the full-on fashion lose).
"We'll find you one after the tour. Everyone on your feet and follow me!" Jess said cheerfully. "You've met Ian; he's our gatekeeper. This way!"
Interns always followed her in one of two ways, depending on the mood of the group and sometimes who the natural group leader was. Most common was the Flock of Geese, a loose crowd which made getting around the tour very difficult, and usually resulted in the shortest person being at the back. This time they favored Baby Ducks: following in single file, with a decent distance between bodies.
"Staff kitchen here," she said, gesturing to the little cubby with its multiple coffee machines, fridge, sink, and the ubiquitous office microwave, covered in obscure stains and dubious dents. "Refill the machine if you drink the last cup of coffee, don't steal food from the fridge, label your own food clearly, and wash any cups or plates you bring in. Failure to follow these directives will result in the amputation of a hand."
Half of the interns looked back down the hall at Ian's desk, and the very obvious cast on his arm.
"This is the Creative pod; you might be spending some time here," Jess said, turning them in the other direction. "That's Zoe, our graphics queen and digital arts master; John's around here somewhere, he and Anna -- this is Anna -- are our writers. PR mostly, some speeches, ad copy."
Zoe glanced up from doing a pamphlet layout and waved with a bright, welcoming smile; Anna peered at them suspiciously around her computer monitor.
"Copier room! Fax and scale and staff mailboxes are in here..." Jess tried the door and then jumped back, startled, when it opened on its own. John emerged, carrying his coat in one hand. Cee, behind him, looked around his arm and turned slightly pink.
"There's John!" Jess said cheerfully.
"The toner," John said.
"The copier's very delicate," Jess told the interns. "Cee's the only one who knows how to fix it. This is Cee, she's Mr. Sparks's PA. If she asks you to do something, drop whatever you're doing and do it. She knows how to swear in Russian."
"Da," Cee agreed, slinking along the wall back towards Sparks's office.
"Around the corner is our file storage area," Jess said, leading them onwards. "Tech desk, that's Roxy's domain, don't touch anything. Spare cubes -- you'll live here if you live long enough. Events supply storage, conference room..." she led them on a loop, past the rear entry to the elevators and back around. "This is Financial. Hi Naomi!"
Naomi looked as if Jess had just tracked something disgusting in off the street.
"Naomi has many minions, so you probably won't be working with her -- she handles all the money and makes sure none of us skim off the top," Jess grinned, turning another corner. "And we're back at Legal, which you saw on your way in. We have three lawyers who you will probably never see -- they handle contracts and investments and make sure we don't say anything stupid, and if any of us get arrested they'll probably get us a reduced sentence in court. Sarah is their keeper. Get comfortable here, because Sarah's going to break you -- I mean, break you in for us," she added, as they arrived at Sarah's desk. Sarah herself was leaning back in her chair, looking smug and just a little carnivorous.
"And this is where I leave you," Jess finished. "Sarah will explain a few more office ground rules and then send one or two of you back to me. The rest will be working here today."
"Hello, interns!" Sarah said cheerfully. Jess backed away, stopped one young man when he tried to follow her, and retreated to a strategic position near Cee's desk, across from Ian, where she could hear everything.
"Jess is a very nice person, as I'm sure you know," Sarah began. Ian crept away from his desk to listen in, keeping one eye on the elevators. "She's so nice that she tends to forget to tell you the realities of office work, especially for those of you who are the lowest rung. Actually, you're more like the skid-stops on the ladder. Nice to have, but not strictly necessary."
"They are if you're me," Ian murmured. Jess saw Cee hide a laugh.
"I'm sure you've all had jobs before," Sarah said, her voice dripping with the implication that any of them who hadn't held jobs had led a spoiled existence. "But just in case, let me refresh everyone's memory."
"I love this part," Cee whispered.
"It's almost nine o'clock," Ian whispered back. "If two of them cry in the next ten minutes I win the pool."
"This is not school," Sarah announced. "On time doesn't mean sliding into your seat as the bell rings. On time means fifteen minutes early. You can't skip, you can't be late, and you especially can't be late because you were out partying last night. A note from mommy will not help you."
"I feel so bad," Jess said.
"Kind of like baby just took his first steps and now he's toddling into the shark tank?" Ian suggested.
"More like throwing cocker spaniels through a shredder," Jess remarked sadly.
"Oh, that's a good one," Cee agreed.
"We expect you to work without someone holding your hand," Sarah continued. "You don't get a cookie for doing something right, because doing it right is the minimum expectation. We do expect you to ask questions, because I'd rather have you ask ten questions and do it right the first time than have you muddle through on your own and do it wrong -- and then have to do it again -- and have to do it twice as fast because it still has to get done on schedule."
Question Mark Girl's lip trembled. Jess sighed.
"This is a real business that affects real people. There are no extensions or make up credits or do overs. There's no such thing as not having any work to do; when you're done with something, go to whoever you're assigned to, or one of the admins, or me, because we will always have something for you to do. The more you volunteer to help out, the more you'll learn, and the easier it will get."
One of the boys in the back grabbed his pocket; apparently the urge to text was strong in that one. Jess, Ian, and Cee all held their breath to see if he would actually take out his phone and be eviscerated by Sarah, but he steadied himself and slowly let go.
"Who knows?" Sarah said, with the kind of mock cheer that only Sparks could match with real cheer. "You might even have fun!"
***
"Okay, how does this work?" Erin said, peering at the laptop on the conference-room table. Well, more peering past it, to the plastic plate of food nearby. "Is that bacon?"
"Yes it is," Roxy replied, pulling the plate of bacon and eggs just out of reach. Erin gazed at it longingly. "It's breakfast, get your own."
"That's a lot of bacon," Erin pointed out.
"I'm low-carbing. Metabolisms slow down in the thirties. Now, you put your PowerPoint up on the screen like so..."
Erin reached for the plate, and Roxy slapped her hand warningly.
"...and the viewers will see everything on the screen. I'll be right here in case anything goes wrong. Just click the mouse to advance the slide. Did you do fancy fade-outs?"
"Should I have done fancy fade-outs?" Erin asked, suddenly terrified.
"No, they look cheap."
"I love bacon," Erin said wistfully.
"Eat a bagel and come back when you're my age," Roxy retorted. "You talk into the phone -- do you want a headset?"
"Very science-fiction," Erin announced, fitting the headset over her hair. "Or very much like I'm a telephone operator from the forties. Crap, is that my first slide?" she added, as PowerPoint appeared on the screen.
"When you're ready I'll dial you in," Roxy continued, looking slightly desperate.
"I have to rearrange my slides. This one should be first," Erin continued, frantically trying to drag and drop the slides around. "What if Sparks rings the gong while I'm giving the webinar?"
"Breathe deep and keep talking," Roxy said, trying to keep Erin from shifting the phone hub and laptop cord. "Whatever you do, don't giggle. Nothing more obnoxious than someone giggling on the phone."
There was a knock on the door, and Roxy looked up as Hanna put her head in.
"Boss wants to talk to you about flash animation when you're done here," she said. Erin, sensing her opportunity while Roxy was looking at Hanna, walked her fingers forward towards the plate.
"It's going to be an hour," Roxy said. "Erin needs me."
Target acquired. Contact made. Now to withdraw stealthily.
"Cee says that's good," Hanna said, speaking perhaps faster than was necessary. "Because then he might get distracted and if he gets distracted three times he tends to forget things so if we can just put him off for one more day he'll give up on the, uh, sockpuppet theater idea or anyway he'll stop thinking it should be animated."
Erin tried to chew quietly.
"It smells like bacon in here, by the way. Okay, uh, I'll come get you when you're done," Hanna said, and left. Erin wanted to swallow, but the fear of bacon shrapnel overwhelmed. As Roxy turned back, in a sort of hellish slow-motion, Erin stopped chewing.
Roxy looked at Erin's face, and then at the plate of bacon and eggs.
"I swear to God, I'm going to leave you alone with your webinar," Roxy said severely.
Erin chewed a few times, swallowed, and made pleading eyes.
"Fine. I shouldn't even do this," Roxy sighed, reaching into her bag. Erin eyed the rest of the bacon, but Roxy straightened before she could make another illegal grab. "Remember, when you're doing a webinar, you're speaking to one person. The viewers aren't sitting in an auditorium at McCormick Place, they can't talk to each other."
Erin stared as a small stuffed tiger was plonked down next to the laptop.
"Talk to Binks," Roxy ordered. "Ready?"
"Binks?" Erin asked.
Roxy reached around the monitor and hit the button to cue up the intro song.
I want a hippopotamus for Christmas
Only a hippopotamus will do...
Sparks' idea, Erin mouthed at Roxy, who nodded knowingly as the music began to fade. Roxy gave her the "you're on!" finger-point, and Erin felt herself lean forward, even though the microphone was affixed to her head.
"Good morning!" she said brightly. "Welcome to SparkVISION's first client webinar! We're bringing these to you throughout the very busy end-of-year giving season to try and present some new ideas and to prepare you for the rest of the year. Today I'm going to be talking to you about the internet's place in your fundraising strategy. If you've been following the news this weekend, you'll have heard about The Home Fund and the problems it's currently having with the internet..."
***
By Tuesday night, Internpocalypse had passed. To everyone's surprise, Zoe won the pool with a bet on "four at four pm" though Sparks had to mediate a dispute over whether tears of rage counted as "crying". They were down to three new interns plus Hanna and, to celebrate, Zoe was blowing her winnings on alcohol and sushi boats for the SparkVISION staff.
Beermaki was technically a sushi bar but, unlike most of the downtown sushi places, it was heavy on the bar. Walking in, it looked like every other mid-range beer joint in Chicago, maybe even a little shabbier than most: low curtains on the windows, taps at the bar, and a digital jukebox in the corner. Only the sushi chefs at the little glassed-in counter next to the bar betrayed its other, more delicious function. Sparks had originally found it, he refused to tell the story of how, and each new employee inducted into SparkVISION's family was sworn to secrecy about it.
The interns, at least those that remained, had been sent away from work. The rest of the staff had evacuated to their bar.
"Seriously," Ian was saying to Sarah, gesturing with chopsticks. "How do you do it?"
"You said you didn't want to be a mistress of the black arts," Sarah replied.
"It was mostly the mistress part," Ian admitted.
"It's not hard. It's just reading people," Sarah said, adjusting her glasses as she settled into an explication of her methods. "You put the girl in the impractical high heels in the file room moving dirty boxes and cleaning binders and shredding. You send the nervous one to the lawyers to abuse. The ambitious ones get to file things all alone, all day long, and the weasels get to serial-stamp documents. Jess already told them they can't tweet or text or whatever -- "
"SOCIAL MEDIA. DO A SHOT," Erin announced. "That's how I got through making a webinar slideshow all weekend. I played the Non Prophet Drinking Game too. Every time you use a buzzword you get to sip your beer."
"Then you tell them you're not going to insult their intelligence by showing them how to work the equipment, and sit back and see which ones are smart enough to ask anyway," Naomi added. "Or you just give them the Look."
"The Look?" Sparks asked, seating himself next to Naomi. Naomi Looked at him. "What? What'd I do?"
"That Look," Naomi said.
"Kids are always guilty of something. You give them the Look," Sarah agreed. "Where's the spicy tuna?"
John levered a piece of spicy tuna roll off his plate and onto hers. "I've never been happier I never had to intern."
"All right," Sparks said, setting a bottle of beer on the table. "With this microbrew, I call the meeting to order."
"We're meeting?" Zoe whispered to Anna. "Does that mean Sparks can pick up the tab?"
"You're paying for my handroll," Anna said.
"We are gathered here to divvy up the remaining three interns and put a plan in place for when one of them inevitably abandons ship in a few weeks. I'd like to begin by saying thank you to Sarah; as always, you are our finest acid test."
"I'm going to break Question Mark Girl if it's the last thing I do," Sarah said. "I can't believe she made the cut."
"Really? You can't believe it? But she worked really hard? Even though her shoes were inappropriate?" Cee asked. Sarah threatened her with chopsticks.
"I'd also like to congratulate John, Ian, and myself on a very successful Movember Moustache Fundraiser -- I don't think I've ever been so relieved to be clean-shaven as I was after getting rid of my epic pornstache," Sparks continued. "And thank you, ladies, for your end-of-month show of solidarity with the fake moustaches."
"I might grow mine back, I was getting fond of it," John said.
"It suited you," Zoe agreed. "Don't grow your hair again, though, you look so nice with it short. Cee, don't you think the mustache suited him?"
"I didn't really notice," Cee said airily.
"Now, that's old business put to rest," Sparks continued. "New business. Three interns. What are their names?" he asked Cee.
"Question Mark Girl, Rhinestone Shoe Boy, and The Other Guy," Cee said.
"Wow. Kids of hippies, huh?" Sparks grinned. "Okay. Question Mark Girl. Naomi -- "
"I reject your interns," Naomi said. "I reject them wholesale. I have no use for anyone who can't do double-entry book-keeping."
"Isn't that illegal?" Roxy asked.
"That's double-book-keeping," Naomi sighed. "We don't want an intern."
"Well, we do," Zoe said. "Anna needs someone new to shout at, and I can't constantly be pricing print jobs and designing them at the same time."
"Rhinestone Shoe Boy, what's his deal?" Sparks asked.
"He stamped stuff all day. He might even have smiled a little," Sarah said. "We know he's a good unitasker. Question Mark Girl would be better for the Creatives. They won't notice her unfortunate conversational tic."
"Hey!" John frowned. "I'd notice."
"You'd notice the rhinestones more, I don't want you distracted by sparkle," Anna said.
"Look, I'm not some idiot who gets sidetracked by every shiny thing I see," John retorted.
"Okay, before the Your Mom lines start, I'm making an executive decision," Sparks announced. "Sarah gets Question Mark Girl in the mornings. Creative gets her in the afternoons and if she snaps and runs away screaming, well, you'll have only yourselves to blame. Sarah can have Rhinestone Shoe Boy in the afternoons. Who needs him in the mornings?"
"Until we know what he's capable of, I'd like to keep him around," Jess said. "Hanna can show him how to do stuff and if he fails there we'll shove him off on Erin, she can teach him to fetch and play dead."
"That would impress our clients," Erin pointed out.
"Done and done. This management thing is way easier than the movies make it look," Sparks remarked. "Now, who's this The Other Guy?"
"He kept looking at his phone and twitching," Hanna offered. "Can I have some spider roll?"
"Why doesn't Hanna have a beer?" Sparks demanded suddenly.
"She's nineteen," Ian said.
"The Other Guy," Cee reminded Sparks gently.
"Sure. So. Who needs an intern?" Sparks asked. Silence reigned. "Why did we hire seven interns?"
"We thought it'd be like the group Hanna came with," Ian said.
"You know. There can be only one," Anna added.
"Is...is that from Survivor?" Hanna asked. Anna sighed deeply. "What did I do?"
"It's from Highlander. I'll lend you the DVDs," Zoe told her gently.
"Naomi has very graciously given up her intern and there are no other takers?" Sparks asked.
"I didn't give him up! I rejected him. Actively. I declined to employ," Naomi said.
"Ian? Cee?"
"Don't need one," Ian mumbled, around a mouthful of sushi.
"No place to put one," Cee agreed.
"I could probably give him a few days winding cords," Roxy volunteered. "If he doesn't go insane, he might be able to help out on the website."
"Then I consider the matter closed," Sparks declared.
"Before we move on to new new business, I'm stepping outside," Anna said. John set his chopsticks aside, gave Ian a suspicious look, and licked the sushi on his plate to ensure nobody stole it. Zoe pushed her chair back and followed.
Outside, under the Beermaki awning and pressed up against the hotel-next-door's plexiglass barrier, Anna lit a cigarette and exhaled considerately away from them.
"So when you go back in there, I need you to make my excuses," she started.
"Why? Are you staying out here?" John asked.
"It'd keep the sushi cold," Zoe said thoughtfully.
"No, I have to run. Union Arms is meeting me for drinks," Anna said. "Everyone's going to tease me."
"Yeah, I can see that," John said. "I feel strongly I should tease you right now."
"Anna's got a booooyfriend, Anna's got a sugar-daddy," Zoe sing-songed.
"You have a Master's degree in the arts and all you can manage is 'Anna's got a sugar daddy'?" Anna asked.
"It's in digital design, not musical composition," Zoe protested.
"Have you ever had cosmos in the Trump Tower bar?" Anna asked. "It's like twenty dollars just to breathe the air there."
"Are you changing before you meet up? Do you own a revealing dress?" John asked.
"Though, not too revealing," Zoe advised. "Make him work a little."
"I stashed it this morning. I'm going to run back to the office, change in the bathroom, and meet him at Pioneer Plaza," Anna said. "We who are about to freeze to death in a short dress salute you."
"He must be pretty high up in the food chain," Zoe remarked, "if he can afford to take you to the Trump bar for your third date."
"Specially since I've already put out," Anna agreed, exhaling a cloud of smoke, talking over John's groaned Here we go again. "But you know, why shouldn't people who work in the charitable sector make good money?"
"I'm not saying they shouldn't, I never said they shouldn't," John said. "I'm just saying, when people are giving you something for nothing, it looks weird to be living the high life. Ordinary working people don't buy twenty-dollar cosmos."
"Yeah, but what if that's what it takes to keep a great fundraiser in the game?" Anna asked. "Say you pay someone a million dollars and they raise three million. Isn't that better than paying someone fifty thousand and they only raise sixty thousand?"
"I'm sure if I were a mathematician I could refute something in your logic," Zoe said.
"I'm just saying, if Union Arms is earning his keep, I don't see why he shouldn't be paid commensurate with his abilities."
"Look, nobody has to be an idealist, but if you don't go into charitable giving with at least a feeling that philanthropy is the right thing to do, it goes nowhere positive," John said. "And if you're making millions of dollars at it, and you don't believe in it...I just think it's a slippery slope, that's all."
"A slippery slope into a delicious dirty martini with gold flecks floating in it," Anna said, stubbing out her cigarette. "Tell 'em I had to go save puppies or something."
"At least he's spending it in the community," Zoe said, as she and John walked back inside.
"I want a martini with gold flecks in it," John sulked.
"I think you could get beer in a martini glass..."
***
Date: Wednesday, 12/09/09
Subject: Haven't You Always Wanted A Monkey?
Hey, you guys remember when BNL wrote interesting lyrics?
I long for those simpler days.
I was a teenager and the internet was in its infancy. The word 'blog' didn't exist. I had an e-mail pen-pal who sent me a bootlegged audio cassette of Gordon, which contained the original cut of their iconic song "If I Had A Million Dollars". It encapsulated every wistful daydream we had. It was a time when they really didn't make pre-wrapped bacon. It would be years before I would even know that Accidental Dismemberment Insurance existed, or what a 401(k) was.
Now, of course, I have a 401(k) and a PPO health plan. I'm seriously considering the accidental dismemberment insurance, and there's pre-wrapped vegan bacon in my freezer.
I make good money doing what I do, and I do it for a 501(c)(3) organization -- the kind that sends you letters with huge-eyed starving children or puppies or fluffy owl chicks included. They pay me a living wage and are happy to have me, because I'm damn good at my job.
The problem with hearing that coming from the mouth of a not-for-profit employee is that people get angry I'm not earning a bare minimum living wage (you all know that minimum wage is not a living wage, right?) so that more money can go to the fluffy starving owl puppies. Don't get me wrong, I love the fluffy starving owl puppies and I want to save them all, but a prophet's gotta get paid, baby. Non needs his vegan bacon.
I'm not a vegan, by the way, I just think food made to look like other food is funny.
Most people will still accept that in order to keep a skilled pool of talent, you have to pay them competitive rates. Otherwise there's high turnover and burnout and low-dedication I-just-need-a-job-ers filling the ranks of the not-for-profits. If you explain it to them, they take a second to think about it and acknowledge that okay, maybe that extra few percentage points in the cash output breakdown really should go to administrative costs. So that's ok, right?
Here's my problem: what do you do when this concept of competitive pay works its way up to the management level, and past that to the executive level? The CEO of a large for-profit corporation can expect to make seven or eight figures if his company is prospering. He's a capitalist, that's his right (though I personally think it's sketchy and probably speaks to issues of insecurity). Should the CEO of a similarly successful not-for-profit be paid competitively? How do you measure the worth of an executive? Should people who "really believe" in their charitable activity earn less because they have a deep sense of their mission? Doesn't that seem a little in the vein of religious masochism?
And is it fair that I get paid what I'm worth in any job, while my boss gets underpaid compared to his for-profit peers just because a million dollars seems like a lot of fucking money?
When I try to grapple with these issues, I think about Barenaked Ladies (I know that sounds pornographic, just go with it). I think about all the things they wanted to give their imaginary perfect woman in order to buy her love.
If I had a million dollars,
We wouldn't have to eat Kraft Dinner --
But we would eat Kraft Dinner...?
Of course we would. We'd just eat more.
In a pure sense of scale, yes, my boss should earn what he's worth. He should be paid competitively not only because it's fair, but because otherwise he has no motivation to stay. The problem is that we don't live in a world of pure scale; we live in a world made up primarily of public image.
Plainly put: it looks bad when you tell your donors that you need to raise a thousand dollars to protect the owl puppy hatcheries, and two days later they see the head of your company wearing a Rolex. The immediate reaction is to say, "Save the owl puppies your own damn self". The secondary reaction is to inquire just what the boss does for the company, and what he actually earns, and why. And that's just a carload of stress that no 501(c)(3) needs.
All of this leaves us with three options:
1. Pay the boss what she's worth and damn the consequences;
2. Underpay the boss and risk turnover and burnout;
3. Pay the boss what he's worth, but prohibit him from ever spending any of it.
You can see why I yearn for my youth, when having a million dollars meant you could buy someone a green dress. (But not a real green dress. That's cruel.)
***
Chapter Four
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