By Charles Hertz

 

 

CAST OF CHARACTERS 

JOCELYN Jocelyn Sheavis, age 35. Talent Acqui­si­tion pro­fes­sion­al, R&W Quanti-Systems. 

LYDIA Lydia Tawellent, age 25, but looks even younger. Job applicant. 

SUIT Cor­po­rate Secu­ri­ty Exec­u­tive, age 45. Wearing busi­ness suit. 

 

SETTING 

The local exurban busi­ness offices of R&W Quanti-Systems. 

 

TIME 

The present. 

 

NOTES 

A slash ( / ) indi­cates where, in inter­rupt­ed dia­logue, the next character’s speech begins. 

Black box and minimal set pro­duc­tions should freely make use of simple cubes and mime as sug­ges­tions of the phys­i­cal set and action described herein. 

At RISE: (From out­doors, closing her umbrel­la, JOCELYN uses a prox­im­i­ty card-swipe to unlock her office entrance—and rushes through to get in out of the weather, the door not closing behind her. She carries a bag of takeout lunch. She is dressed business-casually. 

Behind and unseen to JOCELYN, holding a file folder above her own head against the rain, LYDIA steps up quickly and moves forward through the open door into the office. (Stan­dard-issue cor­po­rate desk-table-chairs-laptop or sug­ges­tions thereof.) LYDIA is dressed in busi­ness attire.

 

LYDIA sweeps the office door closed before JOCELYN has had a chance to turn around.

 

Alarmed for just a moment at seeing that LYDIA has tail­gat­ed through the lock, the senior busi­ness pro­fes­sion­al then quickly puts her train­ing and author­i­ty persona to work.) 

 

JOCELYN 

(phys­i­cal­ly block­ing and pointing) 

Excuse me. Sorry, right back out, please — not a public entrance. 

LYDIA 

This is Recruit­ing and HR, right? 

JOCELYN 

(nodding) 

But you want the main entrance: around the corner, under the awning, to the front lobby. 

LYDIA 

But it’s HR / that I need to — 

JOCELYN 

Of course, but all can­di­dates check / in at recep­tion and –

LYDIA 

But you’re Jocelyn Sheavis. Aren’t you? From your LinkedIn picture, anyway. You’re who I need to see. 

JOCELYN 

(nodding; firmly; pro­to­col; rote) 

The process is the process, and I am all about the process. No devi­a­tion from it even if I could, and I can’t. They’ll phone me from recep­tion, once they reg­is­ter your appointment. 

(then real­iz­ing) 

Except: I don’t have any appoint­ments this afternoon … 

LYDIA 

I only need a minute. You handled my appli­ca­tion. And all of my phone screens. 

JOCELYN 

Sure, but — 

LYDIA 

FIVE sep­a­rate phone screens. Includ­ing the hiring manager, hiring Direc­tor, Team Lead, and peers. I’m Lydia Tawellent. I got … 

(a breath; steel­ing herself) 

I got your email. This morning. 

JOCELYN 

(cau­tious) 

Lydia. I see. 

(looking around; nobody in office) 

Lydia. Sure. Listen, Lydia, I’m really sorry it didn’t go through. But my email said / all there was to — 

LYDIA 

One minute. Five minutes, tops. Please. You handled my appli­ca­tion for almost two and half months. I only need another five minutes of your time. 

(Reluc­tant­ly, JOCELYN nods OK. She beckons LYDIA toward her desk and chairs.) 

JOCELYN 

Hey, look, Lydia, you’re a great prospect and were a very strong candidate.

LYDIA 

I thought I had it. Every one of the five phone screens went well. I got the kind of feed­back, like, you read about. 

JOCELYN 

I’m glad you feel that way. We do try to let every­one know, as / the process unfolds, just where — 

LYDIA 

You did, you did, that part was all fine. Nothing but rain­bows for two and a half months. And then, after all that, I get from you a “Dear Lydia” email? That says prac­ti­cal­ly nothing, but means just “no”? No, no, and more no? Why? What’s wrong? 

JOCELYN 

I know it’s dis­ap­point­ing. I do. Believe me, I’ve been there. When I was your age, just break­ing in, it’s a chal­lenge. But our loss is / going to be someone else’s — 

LYDIA 

What’s wrong? Just tell me straight, and what­ev­er it is I’ll fix it. Remedy it. Learn it. Fill the gap. Make it what­ev­er you want. You will lit­er­al­ly be getting the best and most loyal employ­ee you have ever hired. 

JOCELYN 

No, no, Lydia, look, we’re hardly the end of the line for you. You’ve got every­thing in front of you! And not just with big soft­ware plat­forms like us. Your sta­tis­ti­cal skills alone will open plenty of doors for you … someplace. 

LYDIA 

I don’t have time! To start the whole process over with some other place! 

JOCELYN 

Sure you do. 

LYDIA 

And go through the whole ridicu­lous, overblown, drawn out, painstak­ing micro-examination. 

JOCELYN 

Now hold on, you knew the pro­ce­dure in advance. That’s right up front / in all of our initial — 

LYDIA 

Qual­i­fi­ca­tions fit: check! Cor­po­rate-cul­tur­al fit: check! Psy­cho­log­i­cal, atti­tu­di­nal align­ment: check! Drug test: check! It’s like you’re inter­view­ing me to have my finger on the button in a missile silo somewhere! 

JOCELYN 

I think you want to STOP TALKING, now, / before you dig — 

LYDIA 

Instead of entry-level, back-office number crunch­ing. My god, all of your brand­ing and posi­tion­ing and cus­tomer facing … spiel is about bold­ness and intre­pid­ness and deci­sive­ness. But you can’t roll the dice on a twenty-five year-old break­ing in? 

JOCELYN 

It’s a best-fit thing. Really, for every posi­tion, we apply the same pro­to­col. Think of it like a grading rubric. You were almost right there, but you got just edged out. 

LYDIA 

(a leap) 

Listen, listen: what­ev­er you’re think­ing of offer­ing as a start­ing salary, I’ll do it for less. Sig­nif­i­cant­ly less, a genuine savings. A bargain! And you’ll see, I’ll do it BETTER. For less money! Just to start, OK? And then you’ll see, you’ll know, you’ll see. 

(JOCELYN slowly, author­i­ta­tive­ly stands at the desk. Her pro­fes­sion­al demeanor dom­i­nates. LYDIA watches, big-eyed, and gulps slight­ly in trep­i­da­tion at the minor change in position.) 

JOCELYN 

Here’s the thing. We don’t do that. Play those kind of games in our hiring. What you’re propos­ing … it’s so unnec­es­sar­i­ly des­per­ate. You’re selling your­self way too short. 

LYDIA 

I am out of time! 

JOCELYN 

You’re twenty-five! You have all the time in the world. 

LYDIA 

I’m turning twenty-six! In a couple of weeks! 

(a beat) 

I fall off my mom’s health insur­ance at twenty-six. And I’ll NEVER be able to just buy my own! I NEED THIS JOB! 

(A beat. LYDIA’s head drops, abashed in the wake of her blurted admis­sion. JOCELYN under­stands fully now, or believes she does, and moves to perch on LYDIA’s side of the desk.) 

JOCELYN 

(HR pro, polished) 

I think you’ll be pleas­ant­ly sur­prised at what you’ll be able to get. In the public insur­ance market. I’m pretty famil­iar with those rules and / offer­ings, and from what — 

LYDIA 

Not as famil­iar as me — because I’ve pored over every syl­la­ble of them for a solid year, now. And I KNOW that employ­er-based group insur­ance is my only … is just … it’s what I need. 

JOCELYN 

And why is that? 

LYDIA 

(shrugs; failing at nonchalance) 

The pre­scrip­tion drug cov­er­age. There’s a … short­fall. Cor­po­rate medical insur­ance is def­i­nite­ly the way I need to go. That’s just a co-pay for me, you know? Much lower cost. 

JOCELYN 

Oh, but you won’t have to cover the gap for very long! 

LYDIA 

I can’t cover it at all. 

JOCELYN 

I’ll bet your family would help — your mom, or … / Have you asked — 

LYDIA 

Nobody could cover it. It’s forty thousand. 

JOCELYN 

A year? Wow, no wonder. Well, but / maybe if you split — 

LYDIA 

A MONTH. Not year. 

(head-shake) 

My med­i­cine costs forty thou­sand dollars per month.

(gallows chuckle) 

And that’s the generic. 

JOCELYN 

But that’s … 

LYDIA 

Don’t tell me, I know. I don’t even need to be a sta­tis­ti­cian for that one. Plain old arith­metic does the trick: just shy of a half million bucks a year. 

(a beat) 

I’m a little pricey to, um … to keep around. It’s an auto­so­mal reces­sive genet­ics issue. Born this way, it seems. 

(A beat. LYDIA’s eyes reach for JOCELYN’s. JOCELYN’s eyes steal a look to the door. Then steal another to her wrist­watch. JOCELYN stands again, and takes up a neutral position.) 

LYDIA (CONT’D) 

The con­di­tion is pretty rare. “Woodruff’s Afflic­tion” — Google it, some­time. Affects only one in a hundred thou­sand lucky ducks like myself. So it’s hard for anybody to profit from treat­ing it. Unless, that is, they price gouge. 

JOCELYN 

You’re right, I don’t know of it, I’ll search it some­time… And how long is the treat­ment, did you say? 

LYDIA 

I didn’t say. I think I left that little detail out. It’s a real kicker — kind of the icing on the cupcake. The treat­ment is … well, it’s lifelong. 

JOCELYN 

Life­long. 

LYDIA 

I take the meds, I live. I stop taking them, count­down, in months, to mul­ti­ple organ failure. 

(A beat. JOCELYN makes her way back around her desk. She taps away onto her laptop keys, pulling up the Internet’s resources about Woodruff’s Afflic­tion. She skims the mate­r­i­al rapidly, nodding with pursed lips as it con­firms Lydia’s summary. 

JOCELYN looks up from her screen to LYDIA. LYDIA waits as though a busi­nesslike demeanor were still the order of the day here.) 

JOCELYN 

I’ll tell you, there is just no end to what I learn, here, doing this — about people. You know? That is quite a cir­cum­stance you’ve over­come. I’m not sur­prised: you seem like a remark­able young woman. So capable. 

LYDIA 

And that’s just me sitting here talking. You should see me when I’m actu­al­ly working. 

JOCELYN 

This, this … Woodruff’s Afflic­tion picked on the wrong person, in you! Didn’t it? 

LYDIA 

I sure like to think so. 

JOCELYN 

Of course it did! Which is why I know you’ll under­stand per­fect­ly, now, what I have to tell you. 

LYDIA 

About? 

JOCELYN 

About req­ui­si­tions. 

(LYDIA slumps back in her seat.) 

JOCELYN (CONT’D)

You see, the posi­tion that you applied for was based on a process arti­fact, here, that we call a req­ui­si­tion. 

And each req­ui­si­tion is entire­ly unique. And each has a current status. And this one’s status is “FILLED.” 

LYDIA 

I get that, I really do. But I’m here to con­vince you. Of my deter­mi­na­tion, sure — but also of my com­pe­tence. Of my poise. Of my capa­bil­i­ty. And to ask that we factor that into the next req­ui­si­tion. 

JOCELYN 

Well, the thing / about req­ui­si­tions is that — 

LYDIA 

A new req­ui­si­tion. 

JOCELYN 

They’re not quite so easy / to come by as the — 

LYDIA 

I can save you and all those screen­ers and inter­view­ers all that extra time! They’ve already vetted me! And poof – I’m here! Ready and willing! 

(JOCELYN stands at her desk and taps at her phone as she con­tin­ues engag­ing LYDIA.) 

JOCELYN 

So: a new req­ui­si­tion … That’s a really nicely dis­rup­tive thought. We value dis­rup­tive ideation here, you know. 

LYDIA 

I do, I do know that. It’s one of the “core values” your recruit­ment / mate­r­i­al emphasizes — 

(The phone call that JOCELYN dialed sud­den­ly con­nects and com­mands her attention.) 

JOCELYN 

(to Lydia) 

Just a sec … 

 (into phone) 

Yes: state­side, please. Omaha … Jocelyn Sheavis, pod G‑HR7a. 

(into phone) 

That’s correct… Great, thanks. 

(She clicks off.) 

JOCELYN (CONT’D) 

OK, sorry. So where were we? At dis­rup­tive ideation, wasn’t it …? 

LYDIA 

Yes! But, just to be clear, the new req­ui­si­tion would be for some­thing local, still — wouldn’t it? 

(JOCELYN stares OFF through the window beside the door.) 

JOCELYN

Uh … yes. Yes. We encode it as no relo­ca­tion required. 

LYDIA

Perfect. So, is there any­thing else I need to do, or provide, for — 

(But JOCELYN sees what she’s looking for out the window and swiftly makes for the exte­ri­or door, which she swings open. SUIT ENTERS, swiftly takes up posi­tion beside LYDIA.) 

SUIT

Thank you, Miss — if you could just please come with me. Now, please. 

(LYDIA rises, her jaw drop­ping in mor­ti­fi­ca­tion and dis­be­lief. Nobody touches her. Nobody frog-marches her out. Nobody says any­thing else. LYDIA steps out of the office with SUIT. 

JOCELYN col­laps­es into her seat. Her PHONE RINGS. She taps and scrolls absent­ly with one hand around her laptop as she speaks into the phone.) 

JOCELYN

(into phone) 

Jocelyn Sheavis … Yes, just now … I don’t know, tail­gat­ing, I think. 

I never saw her until she was already – 

(beat; nodding) 

You got it … Yep … The sta­tis­ti­cian req. 

(beat) 

I know! And the funny thing is, she was our second choice. We nearly hired her. 

(beat) 

Exactly … I dunno — she just gave off a vibe, kind of … just very enti­tled. Not even to mention she would have been no end of hell for our insurers … 

(clar­i­fy­ing) 

No, never mind, strike that. That’s HIPAA con­fi­den­tial … No, of course it’s not written down any­where … Yes, we’re good. No, we’re good. We’re good. We’re busi­ness as usual. 

(Black­out. End of play.)

Charles Hertz is a play­wright and screen­writer who lives and works in the New Hamp­shire Sea­coast region. He is author of numer­ous short stage plays, two feature-length screen­plays, and several short screen­plays. His short plays have been part of four Boston Theater Marathons, three New­bury­port Fire­house New Works Fes­ti­vals, Short Play Friday at The Quar­an­tine Series, ArlingTEN Fes­ti­val, Cannon Theatre 10-Minute Play Fes­ti­val, CCA Play­ground Shorts, Warner Inter­na­tion­al Play­wrights Fes­ti­val, and the Hive Col­lab­o­ra­tive Ten Show. His short and feature screen­plays have earned laurels at film fes­ti­vals nation­wide. He is an active par­tic­i­pant in several coop­er­a­tives of writers and readers.

This story orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 21. Support local book­sellers and inde­pen­dent pub­lish­ers by order­ing a print copy of the mag­a­zine.

Photo by Gary Yost