vinylgirl's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the sacrifice Sacrifice is becoming harder to bare. As I work 9-5 Monday to Friday for free, I try to conjure images of casual fall work in my mind. But the grail is not as shiny or bejeweled as I pictured it. Before I started my internship at the mothership public broadcaster I was filled with naive excitement. "This is it," I told myself, "All you have to do is work hard and make contacts." But as the words layoffs, buyouts, cuts, cancelled and budget shortfall congeal into a cloud, rain begins to fall on my march onward and upward. The sacrifice is only worth making if there is some hope of a reward at the end. Living a summer on barely $1,000 would pay off next year when I cash in contacts and work samples. As I sat listening to the outline of the next two shows at our story meeting, I had that same painful feeling as I did in gym class picking teams. As the producer scribbled all the show items down, my heart plummeted as I realized my items were cut. I rested my chin on my palm with my fist kissing my lips. "Don't go red," I pleaded with myself, "Don't get misty-eyed." I wanted to speak up and ask why, but I sat back. The host must have noticed my awkward avoidance and chimed in, "I am sure we can fit in the piece." I watched the producer scribble its slug in the corner of her list - a left over, a bagger. This shouldn't upset me. I've worked as an editor and we bagged items (or banked as we called it) all the time. It usually had naut to do with the piece's quality or relevance, but rather the time element. It had a longer shelf life. But the pang I felt was of personal failure. Here I was working for free, trying really hard to impress and I'd failed. Maybe they just said they liked the ideas to get me out of their hair - keep me busy. Or maybe they had high hopes for them, but had those hopes dashed. Or maybe, the producers need to make pieces that sing to save their jobs. Or maybe I got scared and started to underachieve. I started to be quiet rather than volunteer ideas. I started to put my headphones on and keep to myself. I stopped asking questions or for help. If I did, it is because the sacrifice is hard to bear. It's not the time, but the money. I knew it would be tight, so I saved up, budgeted, and planned. But then "leave your key and your last timesheet in my mailbox," said my boss; my research assistant contract was pulled from under me. A steady $800 a month - enough for rent and groceries. Poof! But there are still months to pay rent, buy metropasses, buy groceries, pay for my cellphone... And it's having an effect on how I feel about this sacrifice. Being optimistic was so much easier two years ago. Allison 10:10 p.m. - 05/05/2009 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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