Page 4 of The Typo

I felt everyone’s gaze on my back as I walked out of the auditorium for my private meeting, the only member of staff to be singled out. I stifled a nervous yawn, wishing I reacted to anxiety in a way which didn’t make me look tired and/or bored.

‘Come in, make yourself at home,’ said Ian, hustling me into his office at the back of the theatre and shoving his Edinburgh Comedy Award and various other bits of memorabilia out of the way. Maybe the real reason we were in so much trouble was because the rumours were true and he actually did spend all his time in here re-enacting his acceptance speech in front of the large mirror which hung behind his desk, rather than focusing on the business.

He looked at me closely, his head to one side, as if he was still weighing up an important decision. I forced myself not to shrink back in my chair under his scrutiny, sitting on the edge of the seat and trying to project an air of quiet confidence.Please don’t fire me, please don’t fire me, I repeated in my head, fixing my gaze on my nervous reflection in the mirror and trying to steer my mind away from the catastrophising black hole it seemed intent on diving into.

Ian nodded, a decision made in a one-sided silent conversation.

‘The thing is, Amy, I’ve got some difficult choices ahead of me, and I need someone I can rely on. I wanted to make sure I could count on your support during this period of consultation. I didn’t tell the others this amount of detail, and I would appreciate you keeping this to yourself, but I think we’ve got three, maybe four months max to turn things around. And then after that…’ He spread his palms and shrugged.

My insides churned as my brain completed the rest of his sentence.

‘That doesn’t give us much time,’ I said. ‘The programme is all booked up for that period, and?—’

‘Oh I don’t think it’s a programming issue,’ Ian interrupted, instantly trying to shut me down.

‘Right,’ I said, remembering my conversation with Malcolm on Friday night about the dodgy choice of acts. If anyone had his finger on the pulse of Edinburgh’s arts scene, it was Malcolm. Dare I be honest with the boss and tell him what people were really thinking? If I wanted to keep my job, perhaps not. But if the theatre didn’t survive then there would be no job for me anyway. It was time to be bold and attempt to stand up to him for once. Ian’s strategy of giving the stage to his cronies with their dated ‘jokes’ obviously wasn’t working, and I knew I’d kick myself if I didn’t say something. I had enough regrets without adding this to the list.

‘I wonder if it is worth including programming in the review anyway? It makes sense to take a look at everything after all.’ I hesitated, trying to find the right words. Ian wasn’t exactly helping by pulling a face which made me feel like a complete idiot. But I had to do it for myself and my colleagues. ‘And if I’m being completely honest, we have fallen into a bit of a pattern with getting a lot of stand-up comics in. And they’re all of a certain … type, shall we say.’ By which I meant, they were all perpetually miserable blokes, with no more than one token woman or person of colour booked each season.

‘I don’t understand what you mean.’ Ian folded his arms, clearly determined to make this as difficult as possible for me.

I tried a different tack. If I openly asked the boss to cut back on the misogynists, he’d probably accuse me of being the one with a sense of humour failure. ‘When I go to see a comedian, I want to laugh. A lot. I want to experience that ache in my ribs which I get when I can’t control my laughter, and leave at the end of the evening feeling a real buzz from a great night. I want to have such a good time that afterwards I feel compelled to share it with other people so that they’ll go and have an amazing evening too.’ Ian was nodding away, seemingly unable to understand that what I was describing was not something commonly experienced by audiences at the Edinburgh Variety. Time to push the message. ‘I know there’s a lot of dark stuff happening in the world, and that it’s important to highlight it through the medium of entertainment. But sometimes, I think we’d all appreciate a bit of feel-good escapism too, something that everyone, from all backgrounds, can enjoy.’ Judging by the way my superior was defensively raising his eyebrows, he didn’t agree with me. But I forced myself to continue saying my piece. ‘Maybe we should shake things up, celebrate the diversity of Edinburgh, get more of a range of voices on our stage so we get more of a range of people in our audience. If we appeal to a broader market, it’s bound to have an effect on ticket sales, and we can build on that momentum.’

As soon as I let slip the word ‘diversity’ I could have kicked myself, knowing it would be kryptonite to the boss. Sure enough, Ian shook his head and put on his best patronising voice.

‘I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at. I know I’m not all woke like you young people, but I do know what I’m doing when it comes to putting on a show. Folk aren’t interested in that kind of “right on” froth. Trust me. While the lights are still on in this theatre, I’m still going to have the final say about the performances we showcase on our stage.’

Maybe being fired would have been the better option after all. My face must have given away what was going through my mind because he quickly added, ‘But in terms of marketing, obviously, I trust your judgement. You’re doing a great job.’

I was surprised to hear him say this as his style of micromanagement had very much left me with the impression that he barely trusted me to post a tweet without his approval. It felt about as sincere as the thank you speech he’d delivered to the whole team.

‘I know you’ve relied on my support since you took on the role, but I wanted to let you know that you’re going to have to stand on your own two feet a bit more over the next few weeks,’ he continued. ‘While the consultation period runs, my entire focus will have to be on managing that. You’re going to have to take the lead and decide what the marketing priorities should be. Is that okay with you?’

So, I was finally going to have the chance to use my initiative and demonstrate what I was really capable of. I should have probably felt happy about the opportunity rather than uneasy for having been simultaneously undermined and undervalued.

‘No problem,’ I replied, my earlier supply of courage having run out. At this point, I would have said anything to bring this conversation to a close.

Ian nodded with satisfaction. ‘I shall look forward to seeing those box office sales soaring, thanks to all your hard work. I know that you can turn this around for us.’

It was exactly as I’d feared. If I wasn’t very much mistaken, this private meeting had been his way of setting me up as the scapegoat for when his plans came to nothing. Just what I needed.

I retreated to the admin office to try to come up with a plan of action, which in reality meant me staring into the middle-distance panicking about the scale of the challenge facing me and worrying more existentially about my future. The situation wasn’t helped by my colleagues trying to get information out of me, assuming, rightly, that I’d been told something they hadn’t. While I wanted to be open with them, I knew I couldn’t be, as it would be completely obvious that I was the source if they started talking about the four-month deadline.

By the end of the day, they’d stopped asking me, but some of them had also stopped talking to me, as if I was part of the problem. There was nothing like a consultation period for driving a wedge among staff. Some people were making it abundantly clear that when it came to a fight for jobs, it was going to be every individual for themselves.

I spent the next couple of days holed up in the office researching our rivals and trying to analyse what they were doing to make themselves so successful. I felt horribly out of my depth, and at night when I eventually managed to get to sleep, my dreams were full of stressy scenarios where I opened my mouth only for all my teeth to start falling out with a horrible clatter. That nightmare kept me running my tongue over my teeth throughout the day, worried that it had been a terrible premonition.

By Wednesday evening, I was longing for the weekend, not because my friends had suddenly got back in touch, but because I needed a break from the pressures at work. I knew I couldn’t carry on like this, lurching from day to day, wishing my life away as I longed for some unspecified improvement in my situation. But the thought of what it would take to initiate a change was perhaps even more unnerving, and I didn’t know where to start.

As I curled up with Eliza, Fraser, and a large drink on the sofa, I spotted something which brought a welcome distraction to my blues. The photographer had replied.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 18 Jan, 20:03

Subject: Thanks

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