Make It Rain

This is a draft of a chapter from a possible book about a job that I still can't believe I had. It'll likely get reworked and be less preachy about business practices.

 

About three months into my tour of Company, it was time to have the profit be shared.  We had had a reasonable quarter, definitely had turned a profit, but I had no idea how much it would be.  I once again dazed about what I would do with a few thousand dollars.  How it would kick-start my dreams of fiscal responsibility.

 

The announcement of what the profit share would be was going to happen on our Fantastically Fun Friday, another forced activity that happened each Friday from 4 -5.  Basically, I was allowed to have a beer at 4, forced to do some, often embarrassing, activity and then allowed to leave at 5.  The more embarrassing the activity, the drunker I would attempt to become.

 

On said Friday when I would be learning of our first bonus, I had a sneaking suspicion I was going to be filmed doing something.  When I walked downstairs, I saw two computers with their webcams on, pointing in the same direction.

 

It was common to have us forced to be taped singing, so I initially thought “karaoke” to myself and grabbed a beer.

 

The meeting began a little differently.  Instead of having an hour dedicated to fun the likes of which you’ve never seen, we began with a much more subdued business meeting.

 

Boss began by outlining our profit sharing model.  It was fairly straight-forward.  Relatively in line with everything I had expected.  The only new bit of information for me was that we had only one retained client, which wasn’t my understanding, which meant we could be out of business within three months.

 

But today there was cause for celebration, we had turned a marginal profit, allowing the team to split a few thousand dollars.  Which was great.  I was happy to have anything.  We were informed that the bonuses would show up on our next paycheck.

 

At that moment, the air shifted with Business Manager exclaiming “Now time for fun.”

 

I grabbed another beer.

 

Boss asked that we arrange ourselves around the kitchen table as he prepared his webcam to begin filming us from the opposite side of the room.  I remember thinking it was a wide angle for filming us.

 

“OK team.  We’re starting a bonus Friday tradition.  Since we are a tribe, I’d like us to do a rain dance.  When I say go, I want all of you to start dancing and making pow wow noises.”

 

I blinked rapidly trying to hide the mix of terror, anger and disbelief.  I stared blankly unemotional in the distance thinking about how to stereotypically dance like a Native American. 

 

I was also surprised that we didn’t have any music.  It was the only time I ever remember the office actually being quiet.  I could feel the other employees having similar reactions.  The air had been sucked out of the room and froze.

 

But the calm only lasted a moment as Boss walked over and prepped his camera to begin filming the fantastic fun. 

 

“OK, so I’ll countdown from twenty while we dance and tell you when it’s OK to stop.” 

 

I remember thinking, “who the f**k counts down from 20?” but then I thought “who makes their employees dance over a bonus and films them doing so?” and somehow, all the absurdity seemed to make sense for a moment.  I wondered if I was on a hidden reality tv program.

 

Boss motioned it was time to begin and yelled, “OK, GO!”

We began moving in a manner that is what I imagine space travel to be like.  We all moved gingerly, slowly, with a high amount of uncertainty.  I shuffled my feet thinking “Indian stomp. Indian stomp. Indian stomp.”

 

I paid close attention to Intern, who would not be getting a bonus because he was unpaid.  His motions were slow, yet deliberate as if he were two hundred pounds heavier and attempting to tread water.  I immediately laughed, realizing that at no point in my life will I ever feel more awkward or ridiculous in a professional setting.

 

Boss began counting backwards.  I reverted to my earlier thought, “who the f**k counts from 20?”  You just wait ten seconds and then start from ten.

 

20, 19, 18, 17, 16,

 

I was dying inside.  I felt some cells offing themselves samurai style out of sheer shame.

 

15, 14, 13, 12, 11,

 

I remembered this was being videoed.  I wondered what my friends would say.

 

10, 9, 8, 7, 6,

 

I thought, “at least it’s documented if there ever is a lawsuit.”

 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1

 

I heard a loud yell and looked up.  I was initially full of confusion, unable to believe what I was seeing.  And slowly, one by one, like big green snowflakes, I saw dollar bills cascading out of the sky.

 

Business Manager had been hiding in the upstairs loft with a trash bin filled with 3000 crisp one-dollar bills that were now beginning to collect on the floor around me and the other employees.

 

In my disbelief, I found I was still shuffling the way my subconscious believed a Native American would.  Although more slowly.  I began laughing.  Giddy almost, like an insane person.  I was unable to believe that I had just been forced to dance for dollar bills.  I felt like a stripper.

 

This was compounded by Boss exclaiming over and over, “MAKE IT RAIN.  MAKE IT RAIN.”  And “THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKE AT A STRIP CLUB.”  It oddly, was the first time I actually understood what the phrase “make it rain,” meant.  I had learned a new fact.

 

The bills eventually stopped falling from the sky, and we were informed that we all could take away $200 and the rest of our bonuses would show up on our next paycheck.  My emotions were all over the place.  I felt happy to have money, but kept thinking that under no circumstances would I ever imagine that I would be asked to dance for my bonus.

 

And be filmed doing so.

 

When all the bills were counted and collected, we gathered around the computer to watch the video.  I felt my dignity being consumed by a drowning sense of self-consciousness. 

 

I grabbed my stack of one-dollar bills, measuring about 4 inches tall.  The stack was too large to fit inside an envelope, so I awkwardly stuffed them in between my computer and a notebook in my bag.

 

The next morning, after many more cocktails and recounting the story to friends, I found myself standing in front of a petite bank teller.  She took the wad of cash from my hands and made a face as if to say “wow.”

 

I began to try and explain the story.  To make her realize that I have a crazy Boss and that I am not a stripper and that if I didn’t have to make her count 200 singles, I wouldn’t.

 

Her face, unchanged, made me realize my zeal to disassociate myself had in fact guaranteed my involvement.  She wasn’t buying it.  So I mustered up every last bit of my pride and looked her dead in the eye.  I decided I’d lie and tell her the only thing I could say and still walk away with my head held high.

 

“I’m a stripper.”  I said

 

She looked up from the singles and made a face that seemed to awkwardly say, “alright.”

 

“And I make it rain.”  I added before gathering my bag and deposit slip and walking proudly out the door.

Author's Note

it's a rough draft, don't worry about grammar. I'd like to rework the intro. It's meant to ultimately be a chapter in a larger work, so it may not need any of the setup.

Reviews

[flash]

Love the use of labeled- not written numbers throughout this piece. The digits rule. Though, just in the way of gimmicks, all numbers as in "two computers" be "2 computers" would make it consistant. HEHE Like it so far...