Day four hundred and two of my incarceration in this hell hole of a manufacturing company. I remember when I first interviewed for this position, believing it would bring me a new life. If I had only known what I do now.
On that interview day it was warm and I had spent almost two hours primping. The expense of the new clothing I purchased was a little modest for my taste, but I didn't know the gender of my interviewer. Whoever said that gender didn't matter in interviews was an idiot.
Women are hired as attractions. Men are hired based on their experience and talent. Nothing has proven me wrong so far. It was proving to be true for this job.
Anyway, this job was hopefully going to be a step up from my Barista "career". So I made time to make myself look more attractive that day. If I got the job, I could afford the clothing to maintain it. I just wanted a higher status in life back then. Now, now I am about to die of boredom.
I checked my email for the hundredth time today. Not that anything would be required of the prettiest girl on the floor that would keep me from dreaming and surfing the net for clothes. I looked in the mirrored wall next to my desk and a frown was on my face. It took so much effort to move my mouth into something that approached a happy grin, a requirement of this position.
The red blouse I wore was a little more revealing today. That helped a little. I couldn't see my black skirt sitting at my desk, but I knew the execs on this floor loved it. They tried to hide their glances, but I knew when to look to catch them looking at me.
I guess they were good at their jobs, but the company's politically correct atmosphere took all the fun out of working here. The atmosphere felt fake. The men that worked here were of average looks and some even had higher incomes, but four hundred and two days later not one flirtatious comment or look.
I always told myself that I didn't need a man to make me happy. These locals sure didn't. I tilted my head and exposed a little more cleavage in the mirrored wall. I was still beautiful at twenty-four years old, but days like today made me feel like a hundred inside. I wanted fun, not this.
The elevator doors opened and someone odd stepped out of the farthest one. At least six foot with greying dark hair and clothes that seemed out of place here. Everyone on this floor wore a suit, but not this guy. He looked down both directions of the hallway looking lost. He was wearing jeans with a collared grey shirt. He could be one of the factory workers, but they almost never ventured up to this office unless they were being let go. Not having an escort with him meant he wasn't being fired. It intrigued me a little.
A little loud, "Are you lost, sir?"
He turned towards me and I forgot what I was about to say next.
His blue eyes focused on my green eyes and stayed there.
He walked towards me.
It was less than forty steps from where he stood at the elevator, but I did a hundred judgments of the guy before he took the few steps to my desk.
His posture was almost perfect. He was in relatively good shape. I could see more definition in his forearms the closer he came. The smile that started to form took so long I thought he didn't like me at first. Finally, before me, he waited. His brown belt matched his clean brown shoes, and his body said he was in charge. I felt small for some reason.
"I am here."
What the fuck is he talking about?
"You are looking for someone?" I asked.
Seconds ticked by before he raised a peppered eyebrow.
I frantically looked in the appointment schedules of everyone on the floor. Was this a joke?
Nothing appeared on my computer screen, and that made me nervous.
"Your name sir?"
"David."
I felt foolish for asking for his last name, but this lack of verbal communication from him was mysterious.
"Your last name, sir?"
Both of his eyes furrowed. I could tell he was thinking of something.
"Is Linda Gibson your real name, or are you a temp?" He asked, obviously reading the plaque on my desk.
A little bit of hostile tone escaped from me, "It is my real name and I am not a temp."
He then ignored me and pulled out his cell phone from his back pocket. The act almost threw me into hysterics, how dare he ignore me. I stared at that cell and noticed something weird. The phone was purple and had a design of a white flower on the back of it. It looked fucking gay for a man.
He called someone. "Larry, this is David, you lied to me asshole. I am on your floor and your gatekeeper does not even know that I am expected."
"Gatekeeper?" My temper flared.
He waved his hand to calm me down, and I felt like he tagged me with something demeaning. My anger incremented to the next tier of open hostility.
I flipped my blond hair over my shoulder with my hand ready to do verbal battle with this nobody when shock overcame me. I never moved that hand to my hair unless I was styling it or I was attracted to the guy. I looked at my fingers instead of the man in front of me. The red nail polish was immaculate. I took a deep breath to calm myself then I really looked at him.
"Sir, as the receptionist on this floor, not gatekeeper, please give me your last name."
"Ms. Gibson, he is David Griggs, I was expecting him." A more formal voice answered behind me. I turned my head, and the vice president on this floor was addressing me. I had to swallow my anger in a flash. This guy would fire me for less than demanding a last name.
"Yes, Mr. Carson."
"Larry, you are the one who is late. Besides, this lady is only doing the job you hired her to do." David said.
David winked at me as Mr. Carson glared at me. I was terrified inside. Just because I didn't like the job didn't mean I wanted to lose it, and this seemed like one of those tipping points in life. And I didn't understand why.
"David, she was unaware of my schedule change since my PC is down. If you were not the best at what you do I would fire you arrogant asshole if I could. I just got a phone call that made me a few minutes late otherwise she wouldn't have to put up with either of us."
David snickered like a little boy. This exchange seemed normal between friends.
"Larry doesn't mean to call me arrogant, Linda. The rest is probably true though. I am an asshole."
Mr. Carson rolled his eyes. For the first time in over a year the simple curse word of asshole gave me hope that my day of boredom would be better than the other four hundred and one. I laughed silently a little.
He must have took that as a good sign, "I am going for coffee after work today, why don't you buy a Grande for me, so I can forgive you harassing me?"
Huh? Me buy for him? It was very bold approach.
"Men buy me drinks, not the other way around." I said.
