Fiction - Outsourced

When her job is outsourced, Meg's world is turned upside down. Struggling to find stability, she navigates the challenges of unemployment, self-doubt, and an unraveling relationship.

OUTSOURCED

– Shannon McNamara –

Copyright Notice:
Outsourced © 2008 Shannon McNamara. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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— CHAPTER ONE —

MEGAN, 2007

“Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on…”

“What… I get for you”, crackled through the speaker box attached to the bright pink and orange menu board of the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru. Or eight A.M. heaven, as I like to refer to the double D’s.

“Medium French Vanilla, extra milk, regular sugar, and a plain bagel toasted with veggie cream cheese.”

It wasn’t rocket science, but it was sure to be a surprise when I took my first sip and looked in the bag. I am one hundred and ninety-seven percent convinced that even if I handed them a note with it written down, I will never get the correct coffee on the first try.

And today I’m late. There is no time for a redo. I put the Jeep into first gear and crossed my fingers as I let up on the clutch and sped up to the pick-up window.

Eight A.M. heaven had somehow turned into eight twenty-seven heaven this morning. I don’t exactly realize how that happened. I seemed to have lost track of the most basic things, like whether I had already shampooed in the shower this morning.

I took a moment to look up. The top was off the Jeep, and clouds were coming in from the east. The clouds were light and fluffy, but as the newscasters said on Channel Five news this morning, slight chance of rain. That was what it looked like, a slight chance.

Massachusetts has a way of being the best place on earth during such times as spring and summer nights, and the worst place on earth, like every single winter. I lived on the southeast coast, in a town called Fairhaven, and missed the brunt of most of the really shitty weather that the central and western part of the state endured. Plus, I was close to the beach. I guess I should just shut my pie hole.

I had awoken to find my boyfriend Brian sleeping soundly in our bed. Apparently unknown to me, he had the day off today. Lucky bastard. I had contemplated jumping back in and calling in with the bubonic plague, but I remembered (the only thing I seem to have remembered, as a matter of fact) it was Friday and there was hope of getting out early without having to use any sick time.

The woman threw back the window, gave me a smirk disguised as a smile, and handed me the coffee. She then took about ten years to hand me the bag with the bagel. At this point, I had chucked three dollars and fifty cents onto the little counter of the window and was halfway out of the drive-thru.

No time for chitchat, I needed to figure out how to warp myself four miles in less than three minutes.

I took a sip. Perfect. Sometimes things all come together.

After running three perfectly yellow lights and one that bordered on orange, I pulled into the parking lot and whipped into my favorite parking spot directly under the tree that loved to shed some sort of sticky leaf all over the backseat of the Jeep. But I’d be damned if that was going to make me put the top up. I took an oath long ago not to be defeated by flowers of any kind.

I took off around the corner, running on sand and through different types of foliage that they planted as an obstacle.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

“Morning, Harry.”

I work in what can only be described as a run-down mill. At least that is the appearance from the outside. On the inside, it looks as though lost souls might wander the halls at night. The foyer is über dusty, as if someone attempted to take a Swiffer to it three years ago, and then just gave up.

Honestly, I didn’t expect glamour and a high rise when I came in for my interview at AdSmart four years ago. We make junk mail. Those coupons that you get in the mail, and promptly sort into piles. There’s the “probably will use” pile. This would include your dry cleaners, any restaurant that is offering more than twenty-five percent off a meal, and the occasional free cup of coffee that makes its way into the envelope. Then there is the garbage pile. This would consist of the ten thousand people who want to refinance your house, sell you a home business, or help you quit smoking.

In the center of the lobby was a large desk with a plump, kind-looking soul sitting at it; the person who always gave me my first hello, and then my last goodbye every day. Harry, whose sole job was to make sure Al Qaeda didn’t break in and steal our coupons. Harry was as predictable as rain at a picnic, always there every morning watching the row of monitors with a coffee in hand and some sort of pastry sitting on the corner of his desk.

“They seem to be having a pretty big meeting this morning, Meg. According to Spy Cam Three, you might be able to sneak in through the back door without being noticed.”

“Meeting. Hmmm, did I miss an email or something? I don’t remember there being a meeting.” I did a mental inventory of all three hundred emails I received during the course of the day yesterday.

“Uh oh, looks as though they may be waiting for you. Mary keeps looking from the clock to the door and stomping her right foot. Hope you have your running shoes on. Elevator’s out, so you gotta hump it up three flights of stairs” Harry said, peering from behind his shoes that were up on the desk.

I took off running down the hall towards the fire escape.

Some sort of random, secret meeting.

It wasn’t the first of the month, nor did we have anything big coming up for any of our major clients. Who knows, maybe we’re all getting a raise.

I kept that in mind as a mental boost to run up three flights of stairs. It had been a long time since I ran cross-country, and I was beginning to have flashbacks of hill exercises.

One flight down, two to go.

Five percent would be a nice chunk of change. Brian and I could look into buying that house I’ve been eyeing with a raise like that.

Floor two.

Or maybe we aren’t getting a raise, but we hired yet another salesperson. That would make my week. One more person to ask me to make the blue “more blue”. Or the green “not as green”. Or fit ten offers into an eight-by-three-inch space.

Making coupons isn’t the most glamorous graphic design gig out there. I have friends who are constantly asking me to come apply at the magazines they work at or telling me to go into freelancing. I’ve thought about it, it is pretty tempting, putting on a designer suit every day, and being able to afford to pay the rent on my own. Only my portfolio at this point is a tad limited to a whole bunch of yellow with bright red price points.

Third floor, almost there, I think I’m sweating.

Ok, enough with the guessing.

I pushed the door open and ran down the narrow hallway. There’s this fluorescent light that always flickers overhead. I allow myself the fantasy that I’m a hot chick in one of those horror movies, running from the bad guy. In said fantasy, I’m running in a pair of skimpy shorts and a tank top that barely fits, also this outfit looks fabulous on me. The problem is, I’m a little bit sweaty and trying to run without spilling my coffee or dropping my bagel.

I barged into the door of the meeting room in the same manner my dog rushes out of her crate when I get home at night. All energy, no grace.

“How lovely for you to join us, Meg,” Mary eyed me over the rim of her Ralph Lauren glasses. As the manager of Graphics Production, she’s not a force to be reckoned with. Sure, she makes the part-timers shake with fear on deadline, but I wasn’t scared of her. At the same time, though, I did wish at this moment I had just called in sick instead of walking in late. She was kind of a hardass.

“Sorry, Mary, I was, um, well, I’m just late, I guess.” Holding Dunkin’ Donuts in your hand kind of voids any good excuse that you might have been able to come up with.

“Yes,” she looked back down at the handouts she had on the table in front of her. “Now that Meg has decided to grace us with her presence, we shall begin”.

I scoured the room for a place to rest my butt. The entire art department, proofreading department, and all the sales reps were in attendance, so seating was next to none. A chair was out of the question. Ten male sales reps, and it would have taken a small miracle for one of them to give up a seat to a lady. I saw my friend Danny in the back of the room. He gave me a little wave, and I headed in that direction.

“Glad you could join us this morning, Meg.” He mocked me as I took a seat on the tabletop he was leaning against.

Sitting Indian style, I decided that this would be as good a time as any to eat my breakfast while listening to whatever boring speech was about to ensue. Multi-tasking was one of my strong points. I pretended to be interested while I fished around in my bag.

“You are probably all wondering why I brought you here on such short notice. We have a visitor from corporate in Connecticut here today. He just flew in this morning.”

I looked over and noticed the tall, skinny man with graying hair and a suit that seemed to match it sitting in the corner. How nice of him to join us. Hopefully, my tardiness would not affect my raise.

While waiting for him to speak, I took a bite of my bagel. Cinnamon Raisin with plain cream cheese. You win some, you lose some.

“Ooh, Cinnamon Raisin, my favorite,” Danny said. He leaned over and grabbed one half of the bagel and shoved it whole into his mouth.

“Now, if Daniel and Megan are done discussing their breakfast, maybe I can introduce Mr. Plein”, Mary finished. She was in no mood to play today. I glared at Danny and sank down a little lower on the tabletop as the eyes in the room all turned in unison to glare at us. Danny just smiled and chomped away, quite loudly.

“Thank you, Mary,” he got up out of his seat and came to the front of the room. He stood there for a moment, clearing his throat, drank some water, paced a little, and then drank some more water.

“Now, some of you might not be familiar with who I am. I am George Plein. I am the VP of Operations, which basically means I do the budget over in Corporate and find the best ways to save the company money.” He cleared his throat again, leaned over on the desk in front of him, and sighed. “I’m going to get right to the point here.”

I gulped down the last bite I had taken. Whatever it was he was here to tell us, it was becoming abundantly clear that it was not good.

“Basically, we have found a way to save the company over four million dollars in the next two years. Unfortunately, this requires that we outsource Graphics Production to an outside company.”

I all but choked on the Raisin lodged halfway down my throat.

The room went very quiet at that moment. No raise, no house, no plain bagel with veggie cream cheese. The glass was looking half empty at the moment.

“Bummer.”

I noticed my friend Jay leaning against a window, scratching his head. A couple of people threw him the look of death. I just chomped the rest of my food down in his direction and took a sip of coffee.

That remark pretty much summed it all up.

No raise, no job.

Part 2

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