"What-a-future!"


 Here’s the tale of an average work day at a big-deal sports network. Some of the details are changed to protect the humor.

“What a Future!”

Today is Saturday. It’s time to go to work. I work at an unusual place. It’s not the typical part-time college job. In fact, here, 40 hours is “part-time.” You just work 40 hours and you get benefits, but it’s still considered “part-time.”  It’s not my dream job, but it has moments of possibility, I think. Well, I thought it was THE job when I started. But, I think everyone else did too.

As a member of the Program Resource Center, I am instructed to work together with a team of five to ten other librarians. We gather videos to prepare them for air. Today is different though. Bobby, a woman in her fifties, is training three new video librarians to replace the others that have been promoted or fired. It will take six weeks to train the new recruits.

Three recruits waddle like ducks behind their instructor. So far, two of the three recruits are fine. It’s become an assembly-line learning class. The third duck, however, is lagging behind. He has been separated from the others. He will get hands-on attention away from the crowd. Rumor has it our supervisor doesn’t want the big chief to know the third duck seems to have a learning disability.

Our job, as part of the existing team, is to buckle down and carry the extra load. On Saturdays a "select" few will be responsible for pulling shows for three major sports networks (about 3-5 million viewers). When most of us first applied for the entry-level $9-an-hour position, we were told we’d be responsible for getting “two networks on air.” We are told that this is a deed that is unheard of in most television networks. It is also our ticket into the world of motion picture making. (About two years later, I end up leaving this gig to work at a major newspaper for one penny more).

With this experience, we can transfer to any cable network facility and be a star. With the cable network initials on our resume, we will be untouchable. For many of us, that was enough to accept the job. We wanted a piece of the pie.

------A Piece of the Pie-----

The road to glory starts with pulling the programming for various regions of the country. There are twelve “networks” as we refer to them. One is Middle East or World. World feeds to places like Australia and Singapore. The other networks are South, Detroit, Arizona, Northwest, Pittsburgh, Midwest, Rocky Mountain, Sunshine, Southwest, Network and Auxillary. Basically it’s like twelve television stations in one building. At the top of every hour the countdown to air echoes throughout every network and hallway.  With the technical gadgets going it’s a little like counting down the new year or expecting a shuttle to launch toward some unknown galaxy all of the time.

Walking into work this Saturday morning I was scheduled to work South, Rocky Mountain and Midwest. I explain walking into South to the master controller, that “If I am not here, it’s just because I am pulling shows for three networks instead of two.” He smiled and nodded, almost animal-like, and grunting like an ape. I’m bitter because it’s an extra two hours of work for the same pay.

I check to make sure all of the shows are in the network and then check Midwest and Rocky Mountain.

Alison, the master controller in Midwest, welcomes me happily. She asks me how I’ve been and proceeds to tell me about her man dilemmas and what it is like to still be living at home at the age of 23. She complains about her parents trying to marry her off to a doctor. She invites me to come to the movies with her and a friend.

I finish up Rocky Mountain, checking to make sure the appropriate shows are filled for the day. Hampton is all too happy to have me keep him company. We talk about school, about infomercials and how tired he is. He complains when I turn the lights up. He howls like a vampire in the sudden light. He also whimpers when I leave the room.

The master controllers were told that if they needed to leave the room for any reason, they are supposed to call a supervisor to sit in to watch their programming for them.

Sometimes walking down the hallway, I can see them hanging on doorways with their arms stretched out to brace their hands on the sides of the sliding glass walls. They shout their words to companions across the hall.

Sometimes they speak to each other over the microphones in their rooms. Sometimes I can hear them singing to each other. They sing commercial songs, tap their feet and jump around to release all of their energy it takes for them to sit eight hours straight. They have the coveted jobs. They make $28,000 a year. They may work 12-14 hour days, but they are loaded.

-----Pulling shows and Holy jeans-----

After filling in the shows and updating the commercial spots, two hours have passed and it's time to start pulling the programs for Sunday.

I first have to put the commercials from Friday away. I take all of the three carts and pile them inside the commercial library.

Carlos walked into the room and asks, “What if staring at someone was sexual harassment? Then none of us would look at each other. Everything is harassment these days."

Jack, a teen-face comedic newer librarian, takes a sheet of paper and puts it over his face and like an Indian and dances around the room. Lurched over, he talks to us through the white paper muffling the sound of his voice.

Carlos, a Hispanic middle-sized man, always scared he will lose his job as a librarian, laughs and leaves the room.

I continue to put up my commercial spots. Carrie, a head librarian, is full of confidence.  She finishes putting up the Southwest spots. From where I am standing, I can see her climbing the moving shelves; she has braced herself up to the very top.

Climbing up the shelves is a definite problem with the supervisors. I remember my first day. I was taught to ONLY climb the shelves when a super wasn’t around.

I climbed very carefully. I asked to be warned if there was a chance at being caught.

Woodward, Carrie’s husband, shouts out, “Tip toe!” I guess I didn’t get the code. The PRC supervisor, third in the chain of  PRC command, walked by and then called me to speak with him.

This super’s name is Jose. He’s middle-aged, but he looks about 19 and he talks with a girl kind-of voice. He’s insecure- -dangerously so. He's always worried about how things look. He is the kind of guy that can have your back...then watch his own very carefully too.

Jose, whose voice mimics Barney, pulls me aside. He is certain to let me know we are not peers.  He says, “I just wanted to let you know around here, we don’t climb the shelves.”

His favorite word is “Basically…”

I give him my best dumb look. 

To smooth things over, I compliment the hole in his jeans. He did not take the compliment very well though. The funny thing is, I was being genuine. He called me into his office later to talk to me about my problem with authority.

------ Coolio Ghost Visit------

But today is Saturday and no authorities, no "supers" are present.

Carlos asks, “Who’s going to get breakfast?” It’s Saturday so there’s no breakfast truck or "Roach Coach" outside as most would refer to it. I squirm and say, “I'm not hungry.” 

Carrie, who just had a baby girl, says she doesn’t "need it." 

Carlos stares, waiting for someone to give in and then pouts. He leaves quickly to get his own breakfast.

Half an hour later he returns. He finds all three of us still putting away spots. He calls us, “Slow.”

I finish putting away all of the commercial spots and roll one of the carts to the beta tape library. To get there, I have to push the cart down the hall and through the copy and log administrator’s offices, past the master control supervisor’s room, past the International headquarters, past human resources and then around the hall again. When I get there Carrie has some sort of teenage Saturday morning sitcom on the tube, our “illegal” cable tube. She is working on her show list.

Carlos joins us and Jack files in a little later. Carrie comes in and out like she owns the place.

About half an hour later, the new security guard meanders to the back with the rest of us scrubs.  He sneaks up on Carlos and I. We both jump at his sudden appearance. It’s usually a ghost town in our neck of the woods. 

He asks us what we’re up to and then takes a look around the screening room- -as if he’s looking for loot. His coiled hair reminds me of Coolio, yet Coolio, though I’ve never met him, seems friendlier. The guy is always coming into the room about the same time on Saturday mornings when he’s supposed to be manning the front desk- -about a half a mile away from here.  He always asks me the same question. He asks me when I’m getting off of work.

Sometimes I muffle up my words and act stupid. Other times I say coldly, “Six."  He always makes me feel guilty. It’s as if he’s just looking for trouble.

When he first started working here he wasn’t even this refined. He spoke with more of a ghetto-slang. It was hard for people to understand when he was paging us. A lot of people took advantage of him. 

They would call him at the front desk and ask him to page people. Mostly on the weekends, they’d ask for “Al Coholic” and other distasteful names. 

And, it was especially funny because it took him a long time to learn. It took a week before the other security officers began telling him he’d have to sometimes write the names down on a sheet of paper before announcing them out loud on the intercom.

After mumbling a few words, he leaves the screening room as ghostly as he came. I scribble a note to Carlos, "He scares me.” Carlos says simply, “Me too.”

We suddenly hear Netty’s voice. He’s the big wig that runs this place. He is king. Carlos jumps a hundred feet. He’s usually not around on the weekends.  Or, at least he’s not back with the scrubs. Seems he’s showing off the new master control area currently under construction (i.e. our baseball field when no one is looking).

Carlos runs over to turn off the TV. He then leaves the room to take a peek down the hallway. He whispers, “It’s Netty.”

I question his paranoia.

------"But we're not OAPS"----

He explains, “The cable is illegal back here. If they find out, they will take it away.”

On a typical 8 am to 7 pm schedule, to be honest, when you have 3 hours of actual work to do and the rest of the time to “look busy,” the illegal cable really is the only source of sanity.

I explain to Carlos that all of the On Air Programmers have cable TV in their rooms.

He says “We’re not O A P s!” He waits a while then peeks down the hallway again.  He then turns the TV to the Spanish station and begins to bop to Spanish music. He narrates and sings under his breath while he jots down notes for his networks. He asks me if I understand the song and then explains the dances and asks me if I dance.

I tell him I am shy about dancing. He says, “Most Americans are shy about dancing.”

The day is broken up around lunchtime. One librarian is listed for “lunch duty.” This means he/she has to stay until the rest of the crew comes back. Today it is my turn.

The rest of the day is simply pulling shows and updating the tapes. It’s about an hour’s worth of work.  I screen a couple of fishing shows. You know, small boat, middle of the water, catch a fish and throw it back.  Jack turns up the television. We watch the better half of White Men Can’t Jump. 

Between commercials Jack screens a Rugby game. He explains the details of the game to me. He says the trick is to pass the ball between another player’s legs. He says that this is the whole point of the game. He and I watch the players topple over each other, grabbing one another as if they were part of a wrestling team.

He laughs out loud, sticks his thumb in his mouth and giggles. He then pauses the beta player and swivels the chair around to catch the next movie segment.

Carrie comes back to take a break. She watches the movie with us commenting on the commercials and she said she was watching a bit of Baywatch. She says it’s nothing more than soft porn.

The show starts again. Jack laughs out loud- -leaning back in his seat, covering his mouth to muffle the laughter.

The security guard pops in again. I leave for a moment and return to see he has taken my seat. He can tell that I am annoyed. You see we get the leftover chairs back there. And, if your seat isn’t falling apart, it means you fought for it. 

I explain, “Back here we always fight over the seats. Some lean way back and some just aren’t tall enough to reach the screening booth.” He gets up.

I finish screening the shows. It actually takes more than one hour. I am distracted by the movie. 

Carlos comes in from his lunch break and sees that I am still screening the same show. He calls me “slow” again. 

He says, in his Spanish accent,  “What-a-future!!!”

“I could have screened those shows in seven minutes!”

Carlos leaves to find a few missing shows.

The security guard asks if the show just started. He returns to the front of the building. Before leaving he comments on how easy we have it.

I start updating tapes. Three hours later it’s time to make copies of the runsheets. Runsheets show the problems in the air. They call them “p-sheets” or “problem” sheets.

My job, as the "p-sheet" person on Saturday, is to find all of the copies, separate them, and distribute them. It’s tedious work, but if you don’t do it exactly “right” you get a memo.

It’s now five minutes to six. Jack is still screening the Rugby match. He asks me if there’s anything he can help me with. I decline the offer. He announces he’s planning to stay. He explains the golf game comes off satellite feed late. He brings in his CD player from the car and sets up camp.

Carlos and Carrie have vanished. I walk down the hallway again, thankful to see the evening shift security guard. It’s time to go home.

I look at the clock, and it’s only three minutes til six. If it were a weekday, I’d be expected to stay until the top of the hour. I sit on the couch and wait for the clock to change.

One minute til six. I figure it’s okay to leave. “Close enough." I say.

The guard says, “Yes, go home and relax. You’ve earned it!”

I smile and nod, exit out the front doors, surprised it’s still daylight.

UPDATE

Two years after working at the TV network, I left to work at the paper for a penny more. Instead of $9.29 an hour, I made $9.30 an hour.

A few years later, I had an amazing visit with one of my network bosses. We had lunch, talked about old times and she offered me a job at $1 more than I originally made.

But, since, I was already making the 'bucks' as a teacher, I declined kindly.

And, I got a tour of the updated facility complete with all of the new bells and whistles. 

And, Carlos was there to remind me "Not to get lost" (not to be a stranger).