Corporate’s Listening (Maybe)

A cramped breakroom with mismatched chairs, a dented microwave, and a hand-lettered “SEATING CONSTITUTION” taped to the wall. A DOCUMENTARY CAMERA squeezes in. A boom mic ducks under a dangling lanyard.

On the table: a printed CORPORATE EMAIL.

GRANT holds it like it’s a sacred text. JOLENE lounges in her claimed chair, feet up. YVETTE eats yogurt with the calm focus of a surgeon. MIGS has a thrift-store tie on—too wide, too shiny.

“Due to Manager Darlene’s unexpected leave, an Interim Shift Lead will be selected internally. Please ensure selection is—”

—“team-forward.”

Team-forward is corporate for “someone they can blame with a smile.”

I accept.

No one nominated you.

The tie nominated me.

Grant pins a sheet of paper to the bulletin board: “INTERIM SHIFT LEAD ELECTION.” Under it, he writes in big letters: “PROMISES.”

Okay. We do this civilized. Campaign promises. One per person. We vote. No bribes.

Define bribe.

Anything not words.

Then my promise is words: “I will stop calling you Grant the Plant.”

That’s not a promise. That’s extortion.

The DOCUMENTARIAN (O.S.)

Can we get you each to state your platform to camera?

Oh, we’re doing platforms now.

Of course we are. He printed a header. That’s how it starts.

JOLENE sits in front of a rack of donated jackets. She’s dead serious.

Interim Shift Lead is a fake crown. But if I’m wearing it, nobody else is.

MIGS writes his promise in huge marker letters:

“MIGS: FREE SNACKS. ALWAYS.”

That’s a bribe. It’s snacks.

It’s not a bribe. It’s a lifestyle subsidy.

We don’t have a snack budget.

We have… snack *inventory.*

He gestures to a clear plastic bin labeled “DO NOT EAT - DAMAGES.”

That bin is a museum of regret.

My promise: I will enforce the schedule as written. No “just swap with me” ambushes. No guilt texts.

That’s… actually good.

I know.

Grant writes his own.

“GRANT: TRANSPARENCY. FAIRNESS. NO FISH.”

“No fish” is not a value. It’s trauma.

It’s policy.

You can’t run on anti-fish. That’s divisive.

The DOCUMENTARIAN (O.S.)

We’re going to fact-check each promise in real time.

Everyone freezes.

Fact-check… in the breakroom?

Oh, this is my Super Bowl.

A PRODUCER steps in with a tablet. On-screen: store policies, time stamps, and a shared schedule.

First: “Yvette will enforce the schedule as written.” Last week, you approved a swap for Jolene with the caption “don’t tell me about it.”

That was… enforcement through containment.

So, not as written.

It was written. In the caption.

That’s my girl.

Next: “Grant: transparency.” Yesterday you told Migs the overtime list “wasn’t out yet.” It was posted at 9:02 a.m. You texted Jolene about it at 9:06.

Grant blinks, caught.

I was going to tell him.

You told Jolene first?

He tells me everything first. I’m his emotional HR.

No, you’re not—

Migs: “Free snacks. Always.” Store policy states: “Consuming damages is immediate termination.”

Then my platform includes… reform.

You can’t run on snacks and then introduce “reform.” That’s bait-and-bite.

What about “snacks later”?

Jolene. Your promise?

I promised to stop calling him Grant the Plant.

Any evidence you’ve ever followed through on a promise?

I’ve followed through on… vibes.

Vibes aren’t evidence.

Neither is your “caption policy.”

Grant grabs the marker back, panicking.

Okay— new rule. No promises we can’t prove.

So… no promises.

Finally, democracy that reflects reality.

JOLENE stands, chair scraping. She points at the “SEATING CONSTITUTION.”

We already have governing documents. Article Two: “If the room smells weird, everyone is equal.” We should pick the interim lead the same way we pick everything else.

We don’t pick everything the same way.

Yes we do.

She reaches into the “LOST & FOUND” box and pulls out a crumpled thrift-store baseball cap that says “#1 DAD.”

JOLENE (CONT'D)

Hat draw.

Absolutely not.

Absolutely yes.

Grant looks to the camera like it can save him.

Hat draw is not— that’s not—

GRANT sits by the microwave, whispering like someone’s listening through the vents.

Corporate says “team-forward,” and suddenly we’re one raffle ticket away from a coup.

Jolene holds the #1 DAD hat open like a ballot box.

Write your name. One slip. No slogans. No snacks. No captions.

If the hat decides, I’m putting in an objection for the record.

The hat is the record.

They scribble names on receipt paper. Drop them into the hat. Jolene shakes it with ceremony.

The PRODUCER leans in with the tablet.

Just so you know, corporate is reviewing the documentary footage for “culture alignment.”

Silence. Everyone stares at the camera.

Corporate is… watching this?

Hi, corporate. We are aligned. Like… shelves.

We follow policy. Mostly.

And we do not eat damages.

Beat.

Jolene reaches in, pulls a slip. Opens it.

“DARLENE.”

They all process.

Darlene… the manager who left?

Someone voted for the absent manager.

That’s… stability.

JOLENE looks at the camera, then at the hat.

Congratulations. The interim lead is… a ghost.

The breakroom door CREAKS open. A WALKIE squawks from the hallway:

WALKIE (O.S.)

Uh— interim lead? We got a customer trying on shoes in Housewares.

Everyone looks at the #1 DAD hat like it should answer.

Team-forward?

JOLENE plops the hat on the table, stands.

Fine. As acting ghost manager, Darlene says… all of us. Now.

They file out, bickering.

I’ll be Darlene’s assistant.

No. I’m drafting minutes.

There are no minutes!

Corporate loves minutes, Grant the Plant.

Don’t—

Oops.

She smirks at camera as the door swings shut.

TITLE CARD: “SECONDHAND BREAKROOM” / “CORPORATE’S LISTENING (MAYBE)”