The lie about commission

When I checked the mail today, I found an envelope from Belltower Books. They had hired me to do campus buybacks at the end of the fall semester and between the lethargy of winter break and the stress of being back at school, it had slipped my mind to look out for the spoils of the two weeks that I went around trying to fill my sack with books. So I was surprised, then pleased to find that Belltower had not forgotten about me as I had them and took the time to relay my commission. The grand total of my payment for the books I bought: $0.42.

This on this surface was not too upsetting. I hadn't bought many books,so I wasn't expecting and significant amount of money, and considering the check was worth less than the stamp it had cost them to mail it, I would've been thoroughly amused had I gotten the check alone. Unfortunately, the head of the company saw fit to enclose a letter praising neither my results nor my efforts but the company's policy to pay solely based on commission. He lauded that fact that the company had managed to buy more books than ever and were proud to enforce a philosophy of paying "based on work put in". I could practically hear the smugness in his voice and see him sneering over his signature. I knew that he didn't write this letter specifically to me and he probably had no idea who was paid what for their work besides the top few numbers he could quote as evidence of how wonderful the company was but, seeing the CEO's letter alongside my worthless check was the equivalent of saying "Congratulations. The value of everything you did in the course of those weeks to acquire books amounts to forty-two cents." And that just killed the punchline for me.

I first got caught up in the commission cult when CUTCO came calling with its promises that we would make more money than our friends' financial aid gave out and we would always have promotions to look forward to and all of the accolades that come with knowing that, because you sold something, you made some money and you could be proud of your income because you'd earned it. But what I learned from CUTCO, and knew before working for Belltower attempted to make me forget, was how little the effort that you make actually goes into closing a sale (or in Belltower's case, a buy). The truth is, a commission is no more a determination of how hard you've worked than casting is a determination of how good an actor you are. If the customer simply doesn't want what you have to offer, there is simply no persuasion in the world that will change his/her mind. Of course, anyone who has done sales can tell you that not choosing to buy doesn't have to be the final answer. As one of my managers told me, "An objection is not a no". Of course, if there are specific concerns that need to be addressed, a salesperson may be able to push for that commission by addressing the concerns efficiently to the point that the customer comes around. However, skill with persuasion, even with manipulation, is not the only determining factor in closing a deal. I don't see the best salesman in the world convincing a struggling college student to sell a book that cost over a hundred dollars for a quarter. And even if I did, I couldn't in good conscience try to use those tactics knowing as I do that this customer is getting the short end of the stick.

This isn't to say that I think salespeople are dishonest simply by making sales. I think it's great to have a product you stand behind and believe in the value of, but at the same time, your belief alone is not enough to make me stand with you. There are people who say no and while "Don't take no for an answer" may be an admirable quality for activists and students whose financial aid hasn't come, when it comes to an unwilling customer, the philosophy just qualifies the salesperson as a bully. Who am I, a complete stranger with my own baggage that I can choose to keep to myself, to tell you what you want; what you need; what would be of value to you? Who am I to determine whether you can afford it or, if you can, how much you'll appreciate it once you have it? There are some for whom "no" means NO. It doesn't mean "try harder", or "you should've made more phone calls" or "I'm not convinced because you aren't smiling big enough". And these "no"s don't care how hard you tried, how many calls you made, or how badly your cheeks are aching. All they care about is that you are of no use to them anymore and they want you to go away.

Employers won't tell you that when they hire you. They'll be thrilled to see evidence of work you've done when your results are good, but when they aren't, your effort doesn't make any more difference to them than it did to those customers you couldn't satisfy. In truth, they have no need to concern themselves with how much work you've done because they never have to worry about paying you more than you've earned. These are the ones to whom the commission-based job is truly advantageous; the ones who have nothing to lose from a system that depends so much on factors beyond a determined individual's control. These are the salespeople who truly believe in their product, however useless it proves to the rest of us.

I'm thinking as I write this that I'll probably be buying books again at the end of this semester. If I end up going to summer school, I may pick up my knife set and resume polishing off my CUTCO chops. They aren't ideal, but they're available, and I sincerely hope that, whatever my return is, I don't measure the value of my work with the numbers on my paychecks. I hope I can do better than that.

I don't know what to do

I hate these moments when I feel completely helpless and it's incredibly frustrating that just putting one foot in front of the other doesn't work in real life. There are too many directions for my mind to go in and come from for me to just push forward and I'm losing time trying to figure out how to get something out of my time. I'm sad. I'm disappointed that I didn't get a callback for Ain't Misbehavin, not because I particularly want to be in the show, but because I know that not getting a callback from a man who's never seen me means that after watching me act and seeing me dance and hearing me sing he didn't think that I might be worth a second look. I'm still disappointed about Chicago because I wanted it so bad and now I've lost my shot at Ain't Misbehavin and after talking to Stacy I really don't want to be in Trojan Woman, so I'm resigning myself to the fact that I won't be in a show this semester, but not by my design. I want to be in a show. I always want to be in a show and not knowing what I'm going to do with myself between seven and ten. I don't know where to go if I'm not a journey guided by a director with steps set out by a choreographer and words given to me by some brilliant writer that the world probably doesn't appreciate as much as they should. I'm sad and disappointed and I feel lost and empty and I was trying to write; to be the writer that I know I am until I have a pen in my hand or a keyboard in front of me after which my brain screams at me that it was all a lie and locks the words away until I'm alone again and I no longer have the means to reach out to anyone. I see on facebook and twitter that people have been going on auditions and callbacks and I missed that and I have to kick myself for not paying enough attention for being so lax that I could miss out on something that I want so bad. I have case law to review for Mock Trial. I have studying to do for AFA and BSC. I have a play to read for theatre thistory, a class still in my major. I have research to do for my monologue in my acting class that will take hours. I have to learn Mi Chiamano Mimi and get it run off to Kara. I still have to turn in my application for MURAP, the personal statement for which refuses to come out right. I don't have time to sit in the library and cry and feel sorry for myself over everything being exactly the same as it's always been. And here I am. I tried to go back to 14th St Playhouse where I had the best day ever. I thought if I could just recap that day, relate that joy, I would be able to get going again. But I couldn't do it. The words came out wrong, the feelings from being there didn't translate to the web and that's one more failure I have to count and it's all just awful. I can't get out of this. It's only three weeks into the semester, three weeks into 2011 and I'm already breaking down. And I think to myself I'd be so much stronger if I just had a little pick-me-up but there's nothing here. Everything I would turn to to pick me up has already let me down. I need help. I want to go to Pigeon Forge.

Now I Know How E. E. Cummings felt

How can I relate to anyone how wonderful a day I had? What words will possibly suffice to express what joy came with expanding the typical ninety seconds into the six glorious hours that made my day; my weekend? I hope I can find the words.

I had a really great day. Specifically, I had a really great audition. It was November when I first saw the ad for Dollywood Entertainment auditions and, being that I was still very much in a funk over my failure at FTC, it served as my first glimmer of light out of the college tunnel. I decided to go and I planned to go and I prepared to go, but as much as I had pinned on it, I walked in resolved to let it be like any other audition that I would leave behind after I walked away. I have lost my resolve. I don't want to let go of how wonderful that day was.

Although I haven't been on so many auditions that I can function on autopilot, I consider myself to be seasoned enough to know what to expect. You go in a group, the SM guides you, you have somewhere between one and two minutes to make a table of strangers care to know you better, and you're done. A very sad representation of what a nerve wracking experience that can be, but that's the gist. Imagine then, my confusion, then surprised pleasure, to come into the seeing place and find it as open as the sky. Because I wasn't in the first group to sit on the stage and try to make these strange men love me, I got to sit back and watch.

I watched and listened as entertainer after entertainer, all with some merit you rarely find in open call, took their place on the X and entertained me. In my impatience to reach the stage, I've often lost sight of what joy can be found as a part of the audience. I watched and I listened and I enjoyed. I enjoyed the songs, I enjoyed the sincerity of the performers, I enjoyed seeing how much the adjudicators genuinely enjoyed these people. I looked forward to bringing them joy that way without resenting anyone else for having the opportunity ahead of me. I know logically that not everyone up there was great and voices varied in tone and power and all these different things, but there was beauty to be found in everything and I found it without the cloud of judgement to overshadow it. For that interim of time, it seemed like my mind was on rotation, alternating between, "Oh that's precious!", "Ooooh I love this one!" and, "I really have to pee". That last one came with increasing urgency largely due to the fact that I wasn't willing to miss any more of the performance treats the open call had to offer. If they hadn't decided to take a break to transition, I very well might've just sat in the back of the theatre and wet my pants.
I almost did wet my pants when I came back to the theatre for the bathroom and saw folk singers. Folk singers! It was such an incredible transition for me and I'm super glad that I chose to step out when I did and come back to this new environment that was all at once beautiful in its own way. Earlier, I had sat thinking, This is what I would love to do. Coming back to these bands, I sat down thinking, This is what I would go to Pigeon Forge to see! I got so excited when these people came together on the stage and gave me gifts. I loved the family act whose girls had hair so long you could sit on it where the soloist who couldn't be more than eight years old and everyone wore boots with spurs. I could feel the vibrations of the bass way upstage from way in the back singing words that I didn't understand and really didn't need to hear because that sensation was enough. I felt so excited and at home that I wondered why I didn't listen to this type of music all the time. Then at the end of all this wonderful, there was a couple; a freakishly bedazzled pair of twenty-somethings who dressed and performed the kind of way I usually look for on shows like America's Got Talent. The head casting agent person guy let them do their entire song (a terrible original piece called "Poop on Your Face"...that was actually about the title), did not insult them, and when they finally stopped asked, "Do you have anything else for us?" with all the sincerity of a man who wanted to give them every opportunity to be what he wanted them to be. They didn't and they left and that was the end of the group acts, but as terrible as they were, they made me appreciate being where I was even more.
I was in the next group of individuals who went up to the chopping block and by the time I found myself standing on the blue X and the head casting agent person guy asked me how I was doing, I honestly told him, "I'm having so much fun." I was overjoyed when I was asked to stay and do a dance routine, less because I was excited about being judged on my dancing and more because I wasn't ready to leave. I was never ready to leave. Half a week later I'm still not ready to leave. The longer I was there, the mroe I wanted to stay. As self-conscious as I tend to be about my dancing and as isolated as I tend to feel among friends who go on auditions together, the stretch in the downstairs studio with these other people who, in another world, might have threatened my place, was just a fun hour or so doing something I only too rarely get to do. I remember the combination. It was fun. When I was finished, my heart was racing and my clothes were damp, and I couldn't be happier. I was having so much fun. And once again, when I thought I was finished, they asked us to come back to

I'm stopping now because this isn't working. I'm posting it because I'm supposed to share.

Arizona Shooting

I'm watching the stream of "Together We Thrive: Tuscan and America" both out of a curiosity as to how the people affected by this tragedy react without news anchors to prompt them, and out of a need to feel the reassurance that always accompanies an assembly of people who share a stake in something terrible. For the second time now, I'm listening to a scripture quote from one of the speakers and somehow I don't see any atheists scoffing at them over using their big anthology of Jewish fairytales as a crutch. The first three speakers, when given a mike, didn't spend their time bashing the party that may be responsible for making this man snap or even placing blame on the gunman himself. They instead focused on their love for the lost and the wounded. When Obama took the podium, there were no demands of "where's the birth certificate" or challenges to Obamacare. There was only welcome and joy and having him here. Unfortunate though it is, there is something about unspeakable violence that brings people together. When the market crashes, the people are out for blood, but when a plane crashes into a building we're racing to the Red Cross to give blood. When a homeless man in the street asks for some spare change we can't find any but when an earthquake literally rocks a neighboring country we're willing to sacrifice our own luxuries so that a stranger can have clean underwear and a nice blanket. Just as the destruction of muscle acts as a prelude to increase strength, destruction of structure in society serves to fortify the bond between individuals who share a quality. Light after darkness is so beautiful that it's overwhelming. The greatest kindness Obama bestowed on us tonight was the image of a woman simply opening her eyes. We find the goodness in people; the humanity in each other; the love in ourselves. In the midst of finding this comfort, marveling at these miracles, I can't help but wish there were a hundred million of them. It does not take a sudden fall to prompt that you reach out and touch someone. I will not thank this madman for endangering so many lives and, for whatever reason, disregarding his own humanity. I won't feign gratitude for the predicament of instability an act of random violence inflicts on a society. I am not one to smile at a rainy day. As I get through it, however, I am wont to appreciate the rainbow. This heightened sense of benevolence is a beautiful side effect of this painful dose of insanity.