The Bat Has Left
the Building
(an Exit Letter…)
by Lisa Berry
March 24, 2000
I’ve given quite a bit of thought over the years as to what I would say at my exit interview. There’s so much within the company that has fallen to decay that I expected I would write volumes about the lack of communication, the need for accountability, and the disturbing shift in company ethics. But now that the moment is here I’ve realized that there really isn’t any point in trying to explain any of these things. I no longer have any need to be heard, and the company hasn’t shown any real interest in action. So, instead, I’d like to end with a story.
This is the true story of the bat that got trapped in the building. It beats out the Elvis Incident as my favorite _____* story and it holds much truth about the nature of the company.
One Sunday evening a bat flew in through an open window in production. A couple people saw it come in and watched it fly around the building, but they didn’t think it was important enough to tell anybody. Besides, they didn’t think anyone would do anything about it. So the bat stayed in the building undetected until dusk on Monday, when it started circling the heads of terrified people, who screamed and swung at it with the weekly newspapers they helped publish. Exhausted, the bat climbed up into the beams and hid until all the people went home.
The next morning, Human Resource Manager C. called the humane society. They told her that the bat could be rabid and must be caught. They instructed her to keep all the windows closed and call back if it reappeared again. She posted an email with this information and the number for the humane society. She didn’t seem to consider that the humane society closed at 5pm, that bats are nocturnal, and that some employees actually work after dark.
Her next email advised employees who thought they may possibly have been in contact with the bat to get rabies shots, just in case. I did research: actual cases of rabies are rare, the shots are very painful, and they are not covered by our health insurance when taken as a precautionary measure. Still accounting was all-abuzz because E. “nearly got bit by the thing” and probably needed shots because that’s what the email told them to do.
On Wednesday at dusk the bat launched again. Everyone screamed and ran. Production opened all the windows and tried to shoo the bat out. Eventually the bat gave up and hid in the rafters. P., from accounting, came back to production and closed all the windows, but as soon as she left we opened them again. After all, we were rooting for the bat.
On Thursday the bat launched just after 5pm. We could tell from the screaming. C. called the humane society, but they were closed. T. the CFO and K. the controller, walked through sales laughing at all the hysteria. They were particularly amused at the sight of 6-month pregnant sales rep C. crouched under her desk in terror. I put one of the weekly papers over her head and sent her downstairs out of the building. Production traffic-manager J. took control upstairs and told everyone to hold still, close his or her eyes and stop screaming. She bolted up the maintenance ladder and threw the roof door open for the bat. I kicked open the windows. We closed the door to keep P. out because she was trying to tell us it was required by law to wait for the humane society. Finally, the lucky bat flew out the back door, which had just been opened by a writer returning to the building.
The bat was never mentioned or seen again.
—Thanks for everything.
* This is an actual on-file exit letter. Names have been changed, or omitted at the request of the author.
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