Addison was a solid employee who worked for two years at Halftime, a nonprofit organization serving special needs kids. Addison knew all about Halftime, having a younger brother on the spectrum. Addison’s family consisted of her, her brother Michael, and Addison’s mom, Francis. Everyone who knew her called her Fran or Franny. She worked hard, providing for her family after her husband ran off with a twenty-something blonde personal assistant. Fran was grateful her ex wasn’t in her life anymore, but between Michael’s medical expenses and Addison’s college tuition, she needed every dime she could scrape together. It wasn’t easy. Working as a waitress (today, they refer to them as ‘servers’ to avoid sexist connotations) meant picking up any extra shifts and working more hours than most CEOs. Still, it was barely enough to make ends meet. The only way she caught a break was Halftime.

More than a babysitter, Halftime provided support staff caring for special needs patients, giving the parents, like Franny, a break. Addison thought working for the organization would make her feel good about serving the needs of other families like hers.

Addison felt good coming to work for the organization as a processor. Her position was responsible for every client who applied for services with Halftime. Not everyone received services, and those who didn’t could afford a health nurse or other care. Addison’s job was to ensure those qualified got a ‘break’ from Halftime. It was a thankless job, taking up hours of the day to process and input frequently illegible data.

At first, Addison liked the job, even though it didn’t check off all the boxes. Addison was a professional photographer who worked for a solid advertising agency. But after COVID-19 ran its course, the agency’s CEO stepped down and let a wealthy young man fill his shoes and call the shots. He wasn’t as good as his uncle and took the agency in a more profitable direction while cutting out those who built the agency, namely the photographers and graphic designers. His uncle wanted the creativity to stand out above all other advertisers, so he continued in business. His nephew took the creativity out of the agency but increased profitability by over ninety percent in his first three months as CEO. The board was happy. Their clients were more than happy. However, the agency lost credibility with creatives like Addison. In less than a year the agency closed its doors, creatives unwilling to work with the nephew. The last Addison heard from her graphic designer friends, he used his influence to take another job at another agency pushing for innovation and creative solutions. No one bought their bland pitches. That agency, too, went under.

Her job didn’t take much time, but Halftime wanted her to be a part of their time. Her supervisor, a bubbly, airheaded woman, trained her to do her job. Helena insisted on knowing all parts of the job, even though she wasn’t afforded the title or the associated wage. Instead, she got trained and learned how to do all the ‘things’ without the opportunity to do them. None of that sat well with Addison, who spent her free time editing photographs she took during her short thirty-minute lunch break. She was also allowed two fifteen-minute breaks, neither of which she bothered with, working on editing the photos instead.

“No one gets a five-star review here,” Helena said. “The most you can get is three if your supervisor feels generous.” Helena sat behind her desk, staring at the paper she filled out minutes earlier. Addison had worked for bad bosses before, but Helena took the cake. In the first ninety days, she had multiple conversations with her about Halftime, who benefited the most, and why she, Helena, was working there with her master’s degree in social work. “So don’t feel bad about a ‘C’ average review. It’s the best you can hope for.”

Up to that point, Addison worked hard, putting in the hours and struggling to figure out what she should be doing with her ‘downtime’ because she had a ton of it! Now, she struggled to get out of bed, unmotivated to appear at the office. She stopped caring about how cute she looked, opting for the bare minimum to keep her head out of the radar of Helena. It didn’t help matters that Helena rarely, if ever, took a minute to check in on her. Helena had her favorite, Savannah, a colleague close to her age who had worked with her for more than four years. Both had master’s degrees and felt compelled to serve those with special needs. Savannah and Helena handled case management, something Addison was trained to do. Addison’s other colleague, Trevor, frequently was the butt of Savannah and Helena’s jokes, neither thinking anyone overheard what they said about him. But Addison did.

Addison worked at Halftime for two years, no longer believing in the mission or her importance as an employee. She did her best to remain positive but couldn’t take much more of her supervisor ignoring her.

Helena got an email and a paper copy of her resignation letter, as did human resources. Addison’s actions resulted in the human resources director contacting her and making a telephone call. Her desk phone rarely rang unless Helena had some pointless thing for her to do.

“This is Addison speaking.” Her voice sounded listless, even to her.

“Hi, Addison. This is Gary Hanover, your human resources director.”

“What can I do for you, Gary?” Addison clicked on a link to bring up the Solitare game on her laptop.

“I see you put in your two week’s notice. Did you send a copy of it to Helena?”

“Yes. And I copied you on that email.”

“Oh. Good. Okay, then. Thanks. I’m calling to do an exit interview.”

“Sure. We can do that,” Addison answered, still sounding bored.

“Are you sure you aren’t busy?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “When do you want to do this?”

“We’ll do it when Helena isn’t tied up.”

“I won’t be there if she is.”

“Do you have a problem with her?”

“If I do, you can tell her after I no longer work here. But I don’t trust you, Gary Hanover.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the last time I talked to you about my dissatisfaction with Halftime, your response was,” she pulled up a file folder on her desktop that read ‘Halftime Notes,’ “You really aren’t seeing the bigger picture here. You don’t really feel dissatisfied.”

“I never said that.”

“Mhmm. Gary, I don’t trust you. I don’t want to work for Halftime anymore. And I certainly won’t talk to you with Helena in the room. If you want my honest feedback about your organization and the Kool-Aid you’ve been drinking?” She stopped talking long enough to sip her iced latte, “Then I’ll tell you. You will need two hours unless you don’t want to ask questions. I don’t expect you to ask, so block out two hours.”

“You really think an exit interview is worth two hours of my time?”

“Gary, you are the one who called me. Remember?”

There was silence on the phone, Addison still clicking away, solving the expert level of Spider in under three minutes.

“Okay. Let’s do it Thursday.”

“My last day is Wednesday.” Addison knew that human resources had a training class that day. It would interfere with Gary’s schedule and inconvenience him.

“How about Tuesday?”

“Trevor and Savannah have three intakes a piece and will need the data for Wednesday.”

If Addison could see his face, she would’ve seen it change three colors before he replied, “Then Wednesday.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be leaving at one o’clock, so let’s do it first thing at 9 a.m.” Addison knew it was the same time as the training class.

“9 a.m. It’s on my calendar.”

“Thanks, Gary. Gotta go.” She hung up before he could object.

Ten seconds before she hung up, Trevor walked out of their shared office space. It wasn’t strange for him to knock on the door, especially if he left his keys on his desk. The knock was softer, not like his at all.

“Come in,” Addison said.

“Hi, Addison. Can we talk about this?” Helena asked, holding her letter in her hand. “Are you unhappy here?”

Addison raised her eyebrows. “Unhappy? Whatever gives you that idea? Do you know me?”

“Sure. We work together.”

“No. No, we don’t. You are my supervisor, and I do things to make your job easier. But you don’t know me. You don’t care about me. And you certainly don’t want me to say.”

“How can you say that?” Helena said, stepping back and holding the resignation letter to her chest. “Of course, I care.”

“When did you last check in on me?” Addison held her day planner, ready to flip it open.

“Last week,” Helena replied.

“Not about a client or data entry.” Addison opened the planner, flipping backward a dozen pages or so. “Oh, right. It was after my ninety-day review. The one where you told me that no one scored above three out of five.”

“I didn’t say that,” Helena protested.

“Helena, I’m here for another thirteen days, so why don’t you stop pretending you care. If you did, you’d show some sign of life. You never cared about me; don’t start trying now.”

“That’s just rude,” Helena said, walking out.

“No. That’s just honest, Helena.”