The Ignored

employee picnic has now started. All employees must attend.”

I should’ve called in sick, I thought.

I waited a moment, then stood slowly and walked out of the office and down the hall to the elevator. The elevator stopped on the other two floors, and by the time we reached the lobby, it was packed. There were even more people in the lobby — employees from the first floor, others who had taken the stairs — and I followed the crowd across the floor of the lobby through the rear double doors. We walked through a short corridor, then through a door that opened outside onto the back of the building. I stood for a moment at the top of the steps, letting everyone pass by me. Rows of picnic tables were now set up on the previously virgin grass. A portable stage with a canvas roof had been wheeled in from somewhere and sat at the head of the tables, facing the side parking lot. Long banquet tables covered with white tablecloths and piled high with salads, desserts, and main dishes were being added to and overseen by a group of busy women. A series of garbage cans filled with soft drinks and ice cubes lined the area of the lawn nearest the building.

I stood there for a moment, not sure what to do, not knowing if I should go out and grab some chow, or find a place to sit and wait until other people started eating first. From here, I had a clear view of the knolly landscaped greenbelts of the adjacent companies, and it was almost like looking into their backyards. I had a sudden vision of these buildings as giant houses, the greenbelts their yards, the parking lots their driveways.

Most of the people were looking for friends, finding seats, but a few had grabbed plates and gotten into line for the food and I followed their example. I took a can of Coke from one of the garbage cans and piled my paper plate high with hot dogs, chili beans, potato salad, and chips. The picnic table at which Banks, Stewart, the programmers, Hope, Virginia, and Lois sat was full, there was no room for me, so I looked around for an empty seat at one of the other tables. There were several open spots at a table occupied by a group of old women, and I walked over there, carrying my plate. No one was staring at me as I walked across the grass, no one was pointing or giggling, no one was taking any notice of me. I was totally inconspicuous; I blended perfectly into the crowd. But I didn’t feel as though I blended perfectly into the crowd. Even if no one else was aware of me, I was acutely aware of them.

I reached the table and sat down, smiling at the woman next to me, but she stared past me, ignoring me completely, and I resigned myself to eating alone and in silence.

“Beautiful music,” that bastard offspring of Muzak, was issuing from two small speakers on either side of the stage. It wasn’t a radio station but a tape and was far worse than even the stringed instrumental renditions of soft pop hits that we usually listened to each day. A uniformed maintenance worker climbed up on the stage and set up a folding table. On top of the table he placed a small cardboard box. He plugged a few wires into the back of one of the speakers, then strung the wires and the Mr. Microphone to which they were connected across the stage floor to the table. I watched him work as I ate, feigning interest, grateful to have something on which to focus my attention.

A few minutes later, a man I didn’t know but who seemed to be familiar to most of the other employees hopped up on stage to a round of applause. He waved at the crowd, picked up the Mr. Microphone, and began talking. “I know this is the part of our picnic you’ve all been waiting for. Especially you, Roy.” He pointed toward a balding overweight man at the table closest to him and everyone laughed.

“Yeah, Roy!” someone called out.

The man on stage held up his hand. “Come on, now. What we’re going to do this year is start with the smallest prizes first, then after that we’ll have the drawing for our grand prize — dinner at Orange County’s finest and most expensive restaurant, Elise!”

There were hoots and whistles and catcalls.

I ate my lunch as the man put his hand in the box on the table and drew out names for free car washes, free video rentals, free hamburgers. Then came the grand prize, the dinner at Elise.

I won.

I sat there, unmoving, as the man read my name, my brain not correctly processing the information. When he read my name again, this time with a questioning tone in his voice, as if trying to determine whether or not I was present, I stood. My heart was pounding, my lips dry as I walked onto the stage. I expected there to be silence — no one knew me, after all — but there was polite applause, the type of applause given only out of obligation and reserved for strangers. The earlier whistles and catcalls were gone. I looked over at my department’s table as I accepted the gift certificate and said “Thank you” into the proffered Mr. Microphone. The secretaries and programmers were clapping politely, but Stewart and Banks were not clapping at all. Stewart was scowling.

I hurried off the stage and immediately sat back down at my seat.

No one at my table even looked at me.

Later that afternoon, Stewart called me into his office. “I heard you were at the employee picnic and you won the grand prize.”

He heard? He was there.

I nodded, saying nothing.

“You seem to be spending an awful lot of time socializing on company time. I would think with your deadlines and all the work you have to do, you’d spend a little less time with your friends and a little more time on your assignments.”

I stared at him. “Attendance at the picnic was required. I wouldn’t’ve gone — ”

“You do a lot of gabbing with your buddies during work hours, don’t you?”

“What buddies? I don’t know anyone here. I come, do my job, and go home.”

He smiled slightly, a hard, mirthless smile. “That’s your problem, Jones. Your attitude. If you put a little more effort into your work and started thinking of this as a career instead of just a job, you might get somewhere in life. It would behoove you, I think, to be a little more, of a team player.”

I did not even bother to respond. For the first time, I noticed how empty and bare Stewart’s office looked. There was nothing to indicate its occupant’s personal tastes or interests. There were no framed photos on the desk, no knickknacks or plants in the room. The few papers tacked to the bulletin board on the wall were all memos or official company notices. The pile of magazines on the corner of the desk were all technical journals whose address labels were imprinted with the name and P.O. box of the corporation.

“Jones?” Stewart said. “Are you listening to me?”

I nodded.

“Why haven’t you been submitting your biweekly progress report?”

I stared at him. “You told me I didn’t have to turn in a report. You said that was only for the programmers.”

A trace of a smile touched his lips. “This requirement is clearly stated in your job description, which I suggest you take the time to read.”

“If I had known it was required, I would have done it. But you told me specifically that I didn’t have to turn in a progress report.”

“You do.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that before? Why did you wait this long before letting me know?”

He glared at me. “As I’m sure you’re aware, your performance review is coming up in a few weeks. I’m afraid I have no choice but to make note of your poor work attitude and continual insubordination.”

Insubordination?

This isn’t the fucking army, I wanted to say. I’m not your slave, you fascist son of a bitch.

But I said nothing.

When he was through with his diatribe, I went back to my office.

Derek looked up when I returned. That in itself was unusual. But what was even stranger was that he actually spoke to me.

“Were you at the picnic?” he asked.

I was still ticked off at Stewart and was tempted to give Derek a taste of his own medicine, to not answer him, to ignore him and act as though he weren’t there. But I couldn’t do it. “Yeah,” I said, “I was there.”

“Do you know who won the drawing? The grand prize?”

Was this a joke? I frowned at him.

“It’s for the employee newsletter,” he explained. “I’ve been asked to compile a list.”

“I won,” I said slowly.