Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts

Monday, May 10, 2010

Execution Á La Television

Behind the executioner there's always someone who has power. Or stupid, and he doesn't know yet what the bets are.

Review meeting about the first show meant to go on air. Present: the programming director of the channel; B., the producer; M., the editor-in-chief; Miss Sylvie, "show host"; Mark, the other editor; myself and also the secretary and a bunch of interns. We re-edited the show three times (I was sitting in the mounting chamber until morning), you can't make gold of mud. As an old mentor of mine said, it's "crap as it is", hence you can't make it any better. Sylvie is catastrophic, endlessly mannerly, like a veterinary student's horse that suffers from every possible illness as she makes every single mistake an amateur can make - and in mistaking she's on a higher than amateur level. And to top if off, from every single word she utters, stupidness just shines. I finally wrote her questions word by word, and to no avail: she went in to B., came back and told me off for forcing my wrong(!) concept on her, she will just go and think up what she is curious about. (In parenthesis: she's not curious about anything else than herself, and even that just barely...)
So there we are, watching the show, I'm trying to sink and disappear I'm so ashamed to be linked to this horror. Even though the problem is not with the editing, but I absolutely know that in this field, if the show is good, it's all because of the host, but if the show is bad, it's all the editor's fault. (My respect to all the exceptions, because there do exist a few hosts who may be in the limelight of success and don't forget that it had to be the common effort of many many people that he can shine - but those are becoming few and far between.)
The cast list rolls, then silence. I would love to see into the others' brains, but I will have to content myself with what they say. And that is a catastrophe in my regards. But I know it's not true that they don't know what's wrong!
The programming director speaks first, he thanks us for the work, then passes the word on to the producer and adds that he will comment very last. B. speaks really long and really murky, the gist after all is that we "need something bigger, something bigger of a bang". I can feel the noose tightening around my neck. M. is up next. She tries to be objective, and to bring up professional arguments. She criticizes Sylvie very carefully, and says a few good notices about the edition. She won't attack me, she knows exactly that if she did so at this forum she would weaken herself too. If the show is badly edited, that's her fault too: why didn't she get the mistakes corrected.
Then comes Mark and starts to smack the show down. He even made notes. He's the neato-on-duty coworker who takes the whole review seriously. He passes by Miss Sylvie in a few words: try to be even more(!) natural. Here I almost already interrupted that "even more" supposes that she is already natural, at least a tiny little bit. But Sylvie is such a mannequin as she is, she's mannerism personified.
B. nods in agreement, the others' faces are unreadable, I'm remaining silent. And Mark moves on to the detailed analysis, smacking the editing ti death. He's not right, or maybe only in a few bits here and there, thing of which he knows exactly that Sylvie forced them into the final version, with the effective support from B.'s side. But he doesn't care the littlest about this, and B. with his excited nodding just pours more oil over the fire. My brain just explodes, and I interrupt, but then the programming director shoos me back, that my version will be heard afterwards. Mark, that sweetheart closes his rants with the phrase that we need something of a bigger bang.
I could kill him. At first I thought we could be friends, and now he attacks me slyly, I can see it's not because of stupidity, he knows what the bids are, he wants to knock me out.
Miss Sylvie also smacks me, but from her I expected nothing else. But I still do groan when she says I didn't prepare her well enough. That's too much even for M., she stands up on my side.
B. closes the debate and hammers in the last few nails into my coffin. He criticizes even those bits that he himself allowed in because of Sylvie's nagging
. When I mention this to him, with the greatest peace of mind he just says that the idea is good, just not the context in which it was realized.
It's my turn. I take Sylvie apart, then I mention a few ideas how to make the show better. That reached the spot with the programming director, he ended the meeting with saying we should do what I suggested.
I burst out of the office first. If I could've gotten Mark into my hands, I would've strangled him.

I always hated review meetings. I saw a modern realization of "divide and conquer" in them, all in a profession where there are no objective grades. What makes a show good? Number of viewers? Then is really Oprah, Judge Alex or a daytime soap opera the peak of television? Nope, and tv personnel now that. (And I have gotten bad and worse for a show that broke all kinds of viewing records...) A good show is the one that is called so by those who have the saying. Just these don't happen to be the critiques, but those with power. So the review meeting is also all about power: you can publicly execute whoever doesn't have anyone behind their backs. The really disgusting part is that the executioner is no one else but your colleague with whom you are supposed to form a team. But it's only supposed, because he has Someone behind him, Somebody who has the saying. Or he's just stupid enough not to realize what it's all about. According to my own experiences, the first type is the majority...

After the initial shock, the atmosphere at the company seem to slowly calm back down. A few people quit voluntarily, two people retired and the language education department broke out into their own company and work for us in outsourcing now. So those who stay only had to let go of a few benefits. The lethargy (mainly because of John) has slowly changed into optimism: together we can win over the recession, we will stop, what's more, turn back on the slope. And miracles, as we become stronger in our minds, new, promising discussions start with new partners about new orders. Seems as if it is really all decided in our head. It's a pity I can't say so about my private life.
But I decided to do everything to save our marriage. Because the girls need a father, and I need a husband. We can't throw away everything, ten years, all the memories together because of a few worse months in our lives. Peter and I paid a huge initial price for our relationship. If we give it up now, we will retroactively make all those things unforgivable. Then we thought that fate meant us to be together, even if this causes pain to others
...
Yesterday, after weeks we finally talked again, just like in the old days. We listened to each other and we really wanted to solve the problems. Peter told me all about the new host, M., B., the review meeting. I can see how he suffers. He knows all about making shows, but nothing about stirring shit, shining himself or telling long tales. And even though now I wouldn't feel so bad if he was just a bit less scrupulous, I try to remind myself that usually that's why I liked him, that he's not like that.
Maybe I should send John's connections against the company? I never mentioned that to Peter, I know exactly that John is a "persona non grata" for him, not even mentioning how humiliating he would find it if it was exactly my boss acting in his favor. (And it would be.)

I did mention though,what if Peter just quit (in the meantime, I tried not to think of the dangerously quickly emptying checking account). Now he wasn't all against it. He said he would correct the show so they won't think he ran away from the challenge, then give them one more week, and if there's still no contract or money, he's quitting.
I also asked him all about M. If there was any sort of a harmony between them, it was over. He can't appreciate her anymore because she's too weak and calculates everywhere
. Peter finally realized that M. is only granting him so much attention, she's only being so nice because she needs her against B. Or to knock Sylvie out of the saddle so she can conquer B.'s bed on her own... And for that she wants to pay Peter with a few mean-it-as-you-will gestures instead of getting him a contract and standing up for him.
We also mentioned our finances. Since he touched our money, I keep the keys to the treasury and only give him money for the most necessary things. So he didn't even know how bad we are. I could see he was interested in where all the savings went, but he didn't ask. Instead, he tried to calm me by saying that if we do go down, he will borrow from his parents. But I know that if he had the choice, he would rather rob a bank than borrow from his parents. His parents kept nagging him that if he joined them in the family business, he would be a rich man now.

At night he moved back in next to me from the study that he converted into a gym, where he has been sleeping in the last few weeks. His sheets smelled like a high school locker room. But that's not why nothing has happened (there is such a degree in missing sex when such a detail doesn't matter anymore). I think he's afraid of failure. I didn't force him, we talked until morning and that was a lot more than what I got from him in the last few hopeless months.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Unsure Balance

Would you want to know what's going on in there?

- Sophie, did you cheat on him?
- I asked again as she didn't answer at first. She looked in my eyes long, as if she tried to read my mind. Like if she was trying to decide whether she can trust me, whether she can tell it exactly to me. Would it change in our relationship if she told me her secret? Would it change the worth of our common past?
- No - she finally uttered.
She didn't convince me.
- Would you tell if you did?
- No.
- Well great. You just easily say no, and when I ask back, you admit that you won't even tell if it was a yes, putting that whole no into parenthesis.
She shrugged and with that she considered the topic closed. I didn't ask any longer, I didn't really want to know. I asked if anyone was following her.
- No, nobody - she answered troubled. - I just don't know anymore whom I can trust.
- In me – I said, putting my hand on her shoulder again.
I only learnt it way later, from her diary, what happened on that weekend.

After the official program I excused myself out. John, my boss was not happy, but he accepted the situation. "See you at dinner" - he said and left for the wellness center. I bumped into a few of the partners at the hall. There were a few women amongst them too. They didn't seem to care at all that the meeting continues in the pool.
I called the kids from my room. I learned that Peter passed them on to his parents. At that point I was sorry that I didn't join the others, but it was too late to reconsider. I laid down on the bed and I was thinking what we could have done wrong and how could we get over this whole thing.
Dinner turned out great, the two sides got closer to each other and the initial distrust seemed to melt away. We drank champagne and chatted. The boss of the advertising agency asked a lot about my job, but he wasn't too pushy. Then they went back to the pool and I retired to my room. I was clicking around on the TV, but I found nothing I would like. I didn't think of bringing a book with me, so finding nothing better I was leafing through the next day's presentation. I turned my cell phone off, I didn't want Peter to reach me. I simply had nothing to say to him. I didn't want to admit that he won, I again met his expectations, even if nobody meant a meat market here.
I was just dozing away when the hotel phone rung. „Peter, so he did reach me” - that was my first thought, so I didn't take the call. In two minutes, somebody was knocking on my door.
It was John. He asked me to talk over the next day's to-do list. I stepped in his way.
- I got a few important info tidbits. We need to change the strategy – he said, just as if we were in the office. - Come, I'll buy you a goodnight cocktail and we can talk it over – he stepped back from my doorway. - We are about to make the deal of the century.
I didn't move, I could just see the blame in Peter's eyes.
- Bring tomorrow's pressie too! - John smiled cunningly. And I followed him obediently. Peter's image disappeared into mist.

My father came around eleven for the kids. He didn't ask anything, I'm sure he saw I need to go. Father and son can understand each other without words. I went over to my neighbor and asked for my buddy's bike. He wasn't too happy to lend it, but I didn't care. I told Sophie myself to go with our own car. The long drive can give a lot of opportunities, and her boss would've only been too happy to come and pick her up. I didn't want to borrow my parents' car, until then I was too much in love with the thought of blazing down the highway on a bike. Sophie undermined my idea of commuting on a motorbike when we had the money for it.
- The kids need a father, not an organ donor – she said every single time when I mentioned my idea.
Victor is about the same size as I am, so I begged off his leather suit too. He was very close to saying no, but he could see that in this situation he just can't do it to me. I topped out at 150 kph on the highway (translator's note: legal speed limit is 130kph) and after long long weeks, for the first time, I was happy. It was mercilessly cold, but I didn't care. Finally I felt like a man again who can keep his and his lady's fate in his hands. I arrived at the hotel around 2pm. I let out a sigh of relief: our car was there in the parking lot. At least she didn't lie about where she was going. I parked the bike far away, even though I knew she would never recognize me in this outfit.
On the road I imagined it a hundred times or more to storm into the hotel and ask about Sophie. The receptionist is all confused, then he tries to keep me from rushing to the pool.
But I got unsure. I thought over what I could find.
1. I find Sophie in the pool, her boss yanking his paws out of her bra with a scared face. (This one I didn't want to see anyways.)
2. Sophie gets cheered up by my arrival and we end up in bed. (This one I didn't count on as it hasn't happened in so long.)
3. Sophie gets upset that I'm spying after him. (This one was the most likely, but understandably I didn't really want to go through that one.)
So I left for home, but after a few miles I reconsidered: if I came so far, I really have to investigate it.
In the hotel parking lot I got unsure again.
I tried to decide what would be more cowardly. Going in or not going in, this is the question. I was staring at the windows, I tried to guess which one is Sophie's.
Finally I didn't go in, but it wasn't all my decision: the security guard pointed me out, I guess he found the helmet-covered biker staring at the building. I didn't wait until I got kicked out, I just hopped on the bike and rode home.
All the way home I was thinking whether or not I would want to know what's going on in there.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Walls of Blames

Words have their weight. Those never uttered even more so.

The night before the trip I was laying on the bed, staring into the darkness with my eyes wide open. Our lives reached a turning point, and I knew I had to decide. If she goes, everything will change. Doesn't matter if anything happens or not. I felt that even if it's just a harmless presentation, I will still be branded by the doubt forever... Sophie and her boss, in two, in a hotel... I couldn't bear the knowledge. Around 1am I got to the decision: she will cancel the trip. We will say it was some sudden illness. From that I felt better and I finally fell asleep. But at five I was up again. I couldn't rest my brain, I thought Sophie has to decide. On her own. If I force her to, it's not worth a damn thing. She has to know what pain she causes if she goes
.
But Sophie got up and started to pack her suitcase. I was watching silently, and I was waiting for her to suddenly stop and announce the no. Even the kids were rowing my boat: they were openly begging their mother to stay. But she just kept packing. I almost said I WON'T LET YOU GO when she started to sort her make-up things.
- I hope at least you take a few condoms? - I let it slip.
- Go f**** yourself! - she burst in front of the kids. - I go there to work, understand? Even if YOU don't know what that's like.
I let the irony pass my ears. I stepped towards her and tried to hug her, but she turned away and started to sort in her bathing suits with large, theatrical moves.
- You know, at first I thought I would say I'm on period and I won't go to the pool party, but after this I'm not so sure I'd do that – she hissed with her lips tightened, and tossed her tiniest, barely covering bikini in the suitcase
- Well if you won't even do so much for me, don't even come home! – I answered quickly and tried to snatch the bikini from her luggage.
She was faster than me and slammed the lid of the suitcase.
- Well then I won't! - she said pouting.
- Mom, come home! You will come home, won't you? - the girls were begging.
- Don't worry, there won't be anything wrong. Mom goes to work. Be good!
She said goodbye to them - not to me -, and she rushed away.
- Daddy, what's gonna happen now? - my younger daughter asked, distressed.
- Nothing – I said, then added: - She goes just to work..., at least so I hope.
Ten minutes later my phone was ringing:
- If you want to swill, ask my father to take the kids! - she said coldly.
- I won't! - I answered and hung up.
„But not because I want to be a good babysitter” - I told myself, and I called my mother that I have a work meeting, Sophie is WORKING too, would she take the kids.
I had a better idea then sitting at home, chewing myself on what Sophie may be doing at the moment...

She arrived late to the cafe at Franz Liszt Square. She wore dark sunglasses, even though it was nasty and rainy outside. She didn't come to me immediately, first she carefully checked out all the locale. Maybe another two or three people were sitting there aside from us. First she looked through me as if I wasn't even there. I was about to stand up when she gave me a barely visible hand motion to stay still. She suddenly walked back to the door and looked back on the street. Just after this she sat down to the table. She looked worn, she must have lost a few pounds. The grey suit she wore to work was way loose on her. She had thick makeup on, but it still couldn't hide the bags under her eyes.
She called me an hour earlier, that we need to meet immediately. I asked her on the phone, but she wouldn't tell me why. I would've had an important meeting, but she begged me so hard I cancelled it.
That's when she told me about the morning of her trip:
- He watched me with blame in his eyes, I knew he was waiting for me to stop packing and tell him I'm not going anywhere, I won't leave you here. But then I had already decided: I only go to the official presentation, from the rest I will just pull out because of feminine problems.
The waiter came and Sophie went silent. She only continued after we ordered:
- He was watching with a keen eye what lingerie I take. It angered me to no end that he even thought anyone would see it, but still I tried to find my least sexy pieces. I don't know if he noticed it or not because he just kept staring with a blank face, never saying a word. Once I was done with the underwear, I asked him to bring me my towel. "You have to solve that yourself” - he answered, not clearing what he means on purpose, and he didn't move. But I didn't want to take the towel because of the wellness things. I always take one, because I had ended up without one before in a hotel, expecting they had one but no. I went out and grabbed one, about the size of a hand towel. I even laid it out so he can see it. No reaction. When I started to sort my makeup, he suddenly ordered me to put in a few condoms too.
Something broke. How can he be so profane?
She started crying. I put my hand on my shoulder and I tried to comfort her, saying that I know of a lot of people who always keep one on them. If it does happen, at least it won't have those kind of consequences.
- If it happens, it's all the same anyways – she said darkly and looked at me. I tried to read her eyes – not much luck.
She told me how bad a fight they had, and that Peter told her if she doesn't fake period, she shouldn't even go home. Sophie didn't even want to answer that then she won't, but she said she was unable to control herself. After this she couldn't reverse it in words, but she still tried to send messages to Peter on a level of gestures. She theatrically checked her bikini line in the mirror, and then she just flicked her hand and left it as-is. (I remembered from our old times that Sophie has always been maddeningly accurate about this, she wouldn't even wear a swimsuit in front of me if everything wasn't in its proper order.)
So I asked her, why is she telling it to me.
- Don't you see?
I didn't, but I didn't want to go into the spiel. Instead I gave the question straight:
- Sophie, did you cheat on him?