For a brief moment Michelle was at a crossroads. She was still new to Corporate Financial Consultants, and didn’t know Alan well enough to let loose around him. She was quick enough to respond with a neutral answer. “I enjoy the work, I’m good at what I do, and I like the compensation.”
“Of course you do,” Jay said, and Michelle could tell from the vibe she was getting off of him that he understood where she was coming from, that she was trying to avoid getting into trouble with her co-worker at Corporate Financial. “That’s the sane answer. It’s always good to like what you’re doing as well as the money. But if you were a millionaire would you be doing this?” This last question was directed at Barb.
“Of course,” Barb said. “What else would I do?”
“You wouldn’t want to spend more time with your kids? Do the things you’ve always wanted to do?”
“I’m already doing what I’ve always wanted to do.” Barb answered.
“So if you had all the money in the world, you’d still be working twelve and fourteen hour days, six and sometimes seven days a week for Building Products?”
Barb smiled. For a brief moment Michelle was chilled by that smile. It was utterly devoid of emotion. “This is what I do, Jay. What you do for Building Products is what you do. That’s how it works.”
“No shit? And it’s like this for everybody?”
“Of course it is.” Barb had her attention wholly centered on Jay. “You heard the consensus from the group here at the table. This is what they do, too.”
“So you’re telling me that despite overwhelming opinion polls that indicate the majority of workers would rather be doing something else for a living, what they’re really doing is what they’re meant to do and they would continue working the same mindless jobs that provide them with no emotional or personal satisfaction even if they were financially able to quit?”
One of the men at the table—Michelle wasn’t sure what his name was—frowned. He was fat, wore glasses, and was wearing a suit with a white shirt and a tie that was still knotted. “You’re suggesting you wouldn’t be working at Building Products if you were financially able to quit?”
“Fuck yeah! Wouldn’t you?”
“No.” The man said. He managed a small grin that reminded Michelle of Barb’s smile; it was cold, emotionless. “Like Barb said, this is what I do.”
“Fine. Maybe it’s what you do, but what about seventy-five percent of the population?” Jay was on a roll and Michelle was now silently hoping he would shut up. She agreed with him one hundred percent, but she was afraid he was putting his job in jeopardy by letting his mouth run.
“You’re suggesting that most people don’t want to work? Is that what you’re saying?” This question came from one of the other guys at the table. Unlike Mark and Barb, he actually appeared to be mulling this question over.
“Shit yes!” Jay said. He stubbed the butt of his cigarette in his ashtray. “You talk to most people, they don’t want to work. They’d rather be on a permanent vacation in California or Hawaii or some shit, going skiing or traveling or partying twenty-four seven. Maybe some of them would be doing shit they really like doing like painting portraits or writing poetry or watching old movies all day or going bird watching. They wouldn’t be pushing paper for some faceless corporation or standing behind a check-out stand all day.”
“Then why do they do it?” Barb asked.
“Because they need the money! Why else?”
“You really think the reason most people go through all the trouble they go through to get a job is for the money?”
Jay was looking at Barb as if she were the stupidest person on the planet. “You can’t be serious?”
“I am,” Barb said, still fixing Jay with that patented glare.
“You’re telling us that people manipulate their way—sometimes even outright lie—to get jobs they feel no overwhelming desire to do otherwise?”
“Yeah, they do.” Despite Barb’s smoldering gaze, Jay didn’t back down. He matched it with his own. “I’m sure not everybody does it. I know there’re people that genuinely like what they do for their chosen career. People who know what they wanted to do when they were ten and then went out and did it when they got out of high school or college or whatever are excluded. I’m talking about everybody else, the poor saps who either had no fucking clue what they were going to do when they got out of school or those unlucky enough to fall into the jobs they currently have. Those are the ones who would rather be doing something other than what they’re doing. They exaggerate on resumes, they mislead, they manipulate their way into job interviews. Then they do this thing called performance art when they finally get the interview. They do every-fucking-thing they can do to convince the person who is interviewing them that they are the best and most qualified person for the job. They do this because they need the job to make money to pay their bills, put food on the table, and keep a roof over their head. If they didn’t have to do the dog-and-pony show to get the job that would give them the paycheck which enables them to provide for themselves and their family, they wouldn’t do it.”
“So you’re saying most people lie on resumes and in job interviews to get a job because they only want the job for the money,” Barb asked.
“Yes.”
“They actually lie?”
“For the most part, yes.” Jay lit another cigarette. Somehow his coffee cup had become empty since Michelle started talking to him. She was already pegging him as an ex-drinker by the way he instantly pegged Barb, as well as by the quantity of coffee he was drinking. Stick an ex-drunk in a bar with drinkers and coffee is usually their drink of choice. “They might be telling the truth mostly in their interview regarding their skills and shit, but get them in an interview and ask them stupid questions like ‘what would be your prime motivation for working for our company,’ and they’ll bullshit you. They don’t give a damn about being a part of some bullshit company mission statement and all that teamwork crap. They say they do because they know HR managers get their rocks off when they hear the shit.”
Michelle wanted to cringe but refrained. She liked Jay, could tell he was a nice guy, and she liked his honesty. She didn’t want him to jeopardize his job by shooting off his mouth, but it appeared that’s what he was doing.
The fat guy sitting at their table frowned. “It might be wise, Jay, if you refrained from… saying this kind of stuff.”
“Why? I’m not at work. I’m at a public place, I’m not on the clock, so technically I can say whatever the hell I want, when I want.”
“Mark’s right, Jay,” Barb said, regarding Jay calmly. “Perhaps you’d better tone it down. You are with business colleagues.”
“Maybe the same rules should apply to you,” Jay told her. “Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking like a fish and getting fucked up. You do have to drive home, you know and after all… you are with business colleagues.”
Barb’s eyes flared briefly in anger and Michelle quickly stepped in. “It is an interesting discussion,” she said quickly. “I mean, the whole topic of an employee’s personal privacy is a big topic today. It’s a topic Jay and I found interesting.”
“Regardless, Mr. O’Rourke needs to learn to tone it down at times,” Barb said. Her voice was icy. “Even when he is at these so-called public places.”
Jay snorted. “You’re delusional.”
“And you’re immature!”
“And you’re a—”
Alan quickly cut in. “Your point has been made, Jay.” He glanced at Barb. “You too, Barb.”