"It's so nice to meet you, Madelyn. We've been eager to get you in here. Come on in. I'll show you around. We don't want to waste any time because in just about a half hour, we have a staff meeting to discuss our newest project, which I'm sure you'll adore."
The job doesn't sound awful yet, so I'll go with the assumption that the lobby and receptionist go together. If that's the case, everything else will be as I hoped—perfect.
"As you can see, we have several offices and conference rooms down this corridor. A few of them are free spaces to use when you are meeting with a client or have an important call. The others are for the C-level employees. You will be in a cubicle outside my office for now, and we'll see where we go from there. Sound good?"
"Yes, that's perfect," I tell him. I wish he would tell me what my job will entail, not that it matters since I won't be stripping, but still. He said we'd discuss the details on the first day, but with the position being called a fashion coordinator, I assume it has something to do with the physical part of ad promotions. I'm just not getting the advertising vibe from the office space so far.
"I assume you're wondering what you'll be doing here, but I want to start things slow. For now, your tasks might change from day-to-day until we see what works best for everyone. We want you to jump into the projects and fill in gaps where needed. Often, that will consist of tasks such as coordinating meetings and arranging the style of a photo shoot."
That sounds good so far. "Great, I'm excited to get started," I tell him.
"Here is your desk. We had your computer set up this morning, but I meant to ask you if you are familiar with Apple products?"
"Yes, I'm proficient with all Apple products as well as Microsoft platforms."
"Awesome because we don't use Microsoft here, so Apple is key." Would it be rude to ask this guy what year he graduated high school? Because I'm wondering if it was the same year I graduated from college. How is he old enough to be running the show here? I know that's ageism, but what am I missing out on?
Mick glances down at his iWatch and back up at me. "Our staff meeting will be—" he pivots on his heels and points to a larger room across the way, "right over there. So, take a little time and familiarize yourself with the area, and I'll see you at the meeting." It's like he's trying to make his voice sound deeper than it is, which makes him look and sound like he's suffering from indigestion.
"Okay then, I'll get set up and meet you there at 9:30," I tell him.
It's odd that there aren't any other people in the adjoining cubicles. I guess everyone could be on flex time since this place seems like a company that supports an unorthodox schedule, and if that is the case, I might be able to reclaim a nightlife. I will recite that wish in the mirror too.
I'm doing great with all of this positivity.
I take my seat, finding the ergo discomfort in my bouncy chair, and power up the computer. While waiting for the desktop screen to pop up, I notice the vast amount of space on the desk. It's the first day, and I didn't want to bring in any decor to personalize my space just yet because I've always found it weird when people bring a box full of belongings with them like it's a kind of move-in day. It seems aggressive like the new person needs to mark their territory, which is the way dogs feel when they are at new place too. I suppose it would be funny if people left a small puddle of pee in their new space, just to get the point across.
In any case, tomorrow, I'll bring in my dying rubber plant and the one picture frame with a photo of my old dog that I had sitting on my last desk. The items are still collecting dust in the oversized box I was handed before the escorted departure from my last job. I guess human resources didn't realize I hadn't decorated my cubicle like some of the other overzealous employees. Maybe that's where I went wrong.
I sip my coffee and wait for the machine to finish powering up. It's taken a while, but whatever. I don't exactly have any work to do so I'd just have to somehow look busy doing nothing until the meeting.
"Psst," I hear from somewhere I can't see.
"Hi?" I respond in natural speaking volume.
"Shh," she says.
"Are we supposed to be quiet?" I ask. "And, where are you?"
A young woman with dirty blonde hair, pulled back into a tight knot, and skin so pale it looks as if she hasn't seen the light of day in ages, peers over the cubicle wall. She scares the crap out of me, and I gasp, slapping my hand against my chest. "Everyone that works here is crazy, and they will suck every ounce of happiness out of your life, slowly, one day at a time. Get out while you can." Beyond the fact that she sounds possessed, I'm disappointed that my hope of the front desk situation being isolated, is not the case.
"Thank you for the warning, but I'm sure I'll be fine," I tell her. "All jobs entail their difficulties, right?" I laugh, trying not to sound nervous, but instead sound like I'm choking on my spit.
She disappears back into her cubicle, and I glance around the area to see if anyone else just saw that happen. I thought no one was sitting in the other cubicles, but who knows what's lurking behind each of these walls.
After putting the woman out of my head, I login into the computer with the information written on the sticky note that's hanging from my monitor. I rearrange the few items on my desk since I'm a lefty and feel somewhat settled by time I need to head over to the conference room.
I enter into a large, empty room with just a small table situated in the center. The walls are white and empty, and there's nothing more than a phone on the center of the table. They should move some of the decor from the lobby into this space. It's like a prison block, if I had to assume what one might look like.
There are a few people scattered around the conference table, but none of them lift their heads to acknowledge me or the fact that I'm a new person in the room. Instead, they continue working on miniature keyboards attached to their iPads. "Hi, I'm Madelyn. I'm the new—"
"Fashion coordinator," one man says without taking his focus off his screen. "We know."
"Well," I say, louder. "It's a pleasure to be here."
"Yup," he says.
"What is your name?" I ask, speaking a little slower.
